The Kissing Disease
by Bethrimiel
Summary: Cadet Uhura is unwell, and Commander Spock decided it was only logical that he render assistance. Obligatory "how they met" story. A slowburning bit of fluff inspired by a recent bout of Mono... doncha wish you had a Spock to look after you sometimes?
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: Yeah, I know it's been done and done and done. I couldn't help myself. I have my reasons. In my defense, all this nonsense began as a simple exercise in writing in the voice of a character. It just got... out of hand.

Disclaimer: if I owned _any_ of this, it wouldn't be _fan_fiction, would it? It's not like I'm making money off it or anything.

Chapter 1:

There are some facts of life that medical science has not yet been able to counter, even in the 23rd century. All beings inevitably age and die. They still suffer from occasional inexplicable headaches and the indignity of the common cold. Injuries, if severe enough, can still result in the death of the injured party. Despite substantial advances, a blade through the heart is still as fatal as ever it was, and any disease, if untreated, has potential to result in substantial harm, even death.

Consequently it is illogical to deny oneself medical treatment for a condition, particularly if one is uncertain what the exact nature of the affliction is.

The train of thoughts and occurrences which lead Spock to this conclusion began approximately forty-four hours previously, in the Hoshi Sato Xenolinguistics Building.

At that time, Spock was standing in a corner of the lab, staring down in the direction of one of the work stations. The flat panel of the work station was flashing quietly. There were three different Romulan texts arrayed across the screen, and beneath them a text in Standard: an essay comparing the three texts, he deduced. The final sentence was incomplete, a small bar blinking expectantly, waiting for the writer to continue.

Cadet Uhura was reclining in her seat, her head lolling to one side and her long, delicate hands dangling off the arms of her chair. Her mouth was slightly open, her breathing low and even. The long ponytail she customarily wore was draped over her shoulder and fell across her chest. A pair of wireless headphones were sealed over her ears. Their blinking green light told Spock that the headphones were still playing.

He cocked his head slightly and considered the arrangement for another moment. There could be no logical reason for the Cadet to have chosen this particular spot for a moment of rest. The position she was reclining in would doubtless result in a sore neck and back. He was perfectly aware that humans frequently did illogical things on purpose, but had sleeping in the linguistics lab truly been her intention, she would certainly have set her screen to sleep mode in order to conserve power.

All the evidence suggested that falling asleep at her station was not the cadet's intention. The only logical step from here was to attempt to awaken her. There was no other person in the lab, so Spock, standing beside the Cadet with his arms behind his back, spoke her name in a tone that should have awoken any sleeping person.

However, Cadet Uhura did not stir. Spock instantly deduced that the music on her headphones had prevented him from being heard, so he took the next logical step.

​Bending down slightly, Spock gently squeezed the cadet's shoulder and spoke her name again. "Cadet Uhura."

Uhura's eyes flew open and Spock immediately stood up straight again. She sat up straight, blinking and fumbling with her headphones. As soon as he was certain she could hear him again, Spock spoke.

"Cadet Uhura," she looked up at him, obviously confused. "I perceived that you had unintentionally fallen asleep at your station. Are you well?"

"Yes," the cadet murmured. "Sorry. Thank you."

"An apology is hardly necessary, I assure you, I was passing this way in any event."

The Cadet shook her head. "That's the second time I've dozed off tonight. I'm sorry Commander, I don't know what's wrong with me."

Spock decided not to repeat his assurance that apologies were entirely unnecessary. The cadet was obviously disoriented. "I would suggest that you return to your dorm and try to get some sleep, cadet. You are obviously exhausted."

Uhura nodded. She sat up slowly and saved her work. Spock noted to himself that she was moving at least 20% slower than was usual for a human of her age and abilities. She coughed slightly as she turned off her screen with one hand, rubbing her throat with the other and frowning.

"Are you entirely well, cadet?"

She smiled, though he could perceive no reason to do so. "I'm fine, Commander, thank you."

Spock cocked his head, trying to determine why thanks would be required from her, but she was already standing up, unplugging her PADD from her work station and reaching for her bag. The PADD slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. She reached for it, But Spock was already handing it to her in the time it took her to even figure out where the PADD had gone.

"Thank you." She took the PADD from him.

"Pardon any intrusion, cadet Uhura, but may I inquire which dormitory you are quartered in?"

Uhura frowned. "I'm in Sloane Hall. 314. Why?"

He straightened, his hands clasping at the small of his back. "I see." He paused for a moment before speaking again. "If I may suggest, Cadet, your reaction time seems to have been substantially affected by your exhaustion. If you have no objection, I would be willing to accompany you as far as your dormitory. Considering the substantial distance between the two buildings, it seems to me that it would be unwise to allow you to attempt to reach that building alone at this time."

"Thank you, Commander, but I'm sure it's unnecessary. The campus is perfectly safe."

"For anyone who is in perfect health. You are clearly not. If you are uncomfortable with the thought of being accompanied by one of your professors, then I can certainly ask security if they would be willing to provide an escort."

"Really, I don't think--"

"I estimate that you have approximately a 70% chance of reaching the Sloane building without requiring assistance, but since assistance has been offered, it seems prudent to accept my offer."

Spock was not yet adept at identifying every emotion that passed across a human face, but he was already well acquainted with exasperation. He did not acknowledge her frustration or even break eye contact with the cadet. Finally, with a sigh, she said. "Oh alright."

Spock nodded curtly and walked to the door of the lab, holding it open for her.

"Thank you," she said, moments later as she passed him out into the hallway. He walked just a step behind her and to her left. As they walked together through the nearly empty Sato building, Spock adjusted his step to her slightly slower pace. He noticed that the cadet was holding her PADD tight against her chest, and though her face was impassive, he detected that her shoulders were tenser than was usual.

She was nervous, he realized, with some surprise. Why should she feel nervous? She was no longer in any danger of failing to make it back to her room. As they were teacher and student there could be no uncertainty in her mind of how she should act around him. Although, he considered, it was certainly possible that she felt some apprehension at being in the company of one who had such influence over her future. Students were frequently nervous around professors, irrationally concerned that their actions outside of class could have an effect on their grades. And humans, he knew, were frequently nervous around him in particular.

Satisfied that he had found an acceptable explanation of the Cadet's nervousness, he immediately decided to remedy the situation. "Cadet Uhura," he said briskly, walking beside her now. "I believe that this situation has made you uncomfortable, and I wish to tell you that this was not my intention."

Uhura blinked at him, apparently unable to think of an appropriate response.

"Hm," said Spock, looking away from her face to stare ahead of them, "It seems my observations were correct, and yet my actions have done nothing to alleviate the situation." When he looked back at the Cadet, she was smiling slightly. "And yet you are amused. Forgive me, but I do not understand. I am always endeavoring to improve my comprehension of human interaction, with, I fear, only moderate success."

"Well," the Cadet said slowly, "forgive me for saying, but I believe you'll find that when humans are placed in a situation they did not anticipate, they become nervous, no matter the _intentions_ of the other party."

"I see. That is illogical."

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"I presume that humans have developed a procedure for alleviating the awkwardness of such situations."

Uhura was smiling again, sleepily. "If I'm not mistaken, it's called making small talk."

Spock held the door open for the cadet, his face impassive. He was considering what the logical merit could be for creating conversation of lesser size. He followed the Cadet out into the cool night air. "I do not understand how conversing less could assist in the passing of what you would consider an awkward silence."

"Not less talk, small talk," Uhura said, turning back to look at him. "As in polite conversation about a subject both parties have interest in."

"I see." Spock followed Uhura to the transport platform outside the Hoshi Sato Xenolinguistics Building. She punched a few buttons on the keypad and waited for the nearest hoverbus to arrive. She sat on the bench with a sigh, laying her bag and PADD down beside her.

Spock stood beside her in silence for a moment, and then spoke suddenly. "I believe that you recently took the Kobayashi Maru test?" he inquired.

She looked up at him, and he noted that she still seemed surprised by his actions.

"I am endeavoring to create small talk. As you have recently completed the test and I was the primary programmer, I believe that this fulfills the requirement of being of mutual interest."

"Oh. Yes. Um." She swallowed again, clearing her throat. "If I'm honest, Commander Spock, I found the test to be intensely realistic and extremely upsetting."

"Upsetting in what way?" he asked.

She looked up at him again. "It was..." She ran a hand over her face, which seemed pale despite her natural coloring. "I'm sorry, but you're making me nervous again."

"That was not my intention."

"You could try sitting down," she suggested. At his inquiring look, she elaborated. "It's customary, when two people are having a conversation, that they are either both sitting or both standing."

"Of course." Even though it was illogical to sit when the hoverbus was surely nearby, Spock sat on the very edge of the bench, far enough from her that even when he was turned sideways to observe her, they were still approximately nine inches apart. "You were saying?"

"Yes." She cleared her throat. "I know everyone thought that the test was difficult. I mean, we know that we won't pass every simulation, but I don't think any of us were really prepared for that level of intensity."

"You found the simulation intense?"

Uhura nodded. "Frankly it was terrifying. Every simulation feels real, of course, but that one was... disturbingly so."

"Indeed."

"Even Kirk was upset."

Spock stood up with Uhura as the hoverbus emblazoned with the Starfleet logo approached and came to a stop in front of them. She walked up to the bus. "Sloane residential," she told the automated driver as she entered, Spock immediately behind her. They took two seats near the middle of the bus.

"Yeah," Uhura continued. "He told me later that the end of the sim, you know, when everything starts going wrong at once, he said it reminded of a time when he had almost driven his stepdad's corvette off a cliff." She shrugged one shoulder. "Of course, he was pretty drunk at that point, but I'm pretty sure he was telling the truth."

"The test was administered on a Wednesday, was it not?"

"I suppose so."

"Then are you suggesting that Cadet Kirk consumed alcohol that night even though he most likely had classes to attend the next day?"

Uhura was smiling sleepily again. "Commander, we all went out drinking that night. It was a stressful test. We all needed a drink afterwards."

Spock's expression had not changed. "A most illogical course of action."

Uhura nodded, yawning hugely.

"If you would like, Cadet, you may sleep while the transport returns us to your dormitory. I assure you that I shall awaken you when we arrive."

Uhura nodded, too tired to even be embarrassed.

Spock sat quietly beside the cadet as she leaned her head against the transparent aluminum and fell asleep almost instantly.

The next afternoon, Commander Spock decided that he would take a slightly different route than usual Commander Spock did not frequently walk this way, but he had determined that the detour was in no way detrimental to his goal of arriving at the Cochrane building within the next twenty minutes in order to prepare for his next class. His detour would bring him past both the Sloane building and the mess hall where students frequently took their lunch at this time. He estimated that this detour would increase his likelihood of encountering Cadet Uhura. If he did not, he would still arrive at the Cochrane Building in time to log into his teacher account and see if she had made it to her morning classes alright.

As he walked past the mess, he did indeed observe cadet Uhura. Her hair was pulled into a low bun, looser and less orderly than her usual ponytail. She looked tired still, if the dark shadows under her eyes were indeed indicative of that. And, if he was interpreting her emotions correctly, she was extremely agitated, perhaps furious.

She was standing to one side of the Mess Hall doors, arms crossed and talking quietly and quickly with another cadet. The other red-garbed cadet was standing, arms crossed, one shoulder leaning against the wall of the mess hall. He was tan, blue-eyed and smiling broadly, despite Uhura's obvious distress.

Since it was clearly a private conversation, Spock determined that going over to inquire about the cadet's health would most likely be considered an intrusion. However, as his path brought him quite close to the pair, he couldn't help but overhear part of the discussion, since Uhura's voice was raised in anger.

"I can't believe you could be so goddamn careless!" she said. She seemed slightly hoarse, and Spock wondered how long this argument had been going on.

"I said I'm sorry. It's not like it was my fault, after all, I didn't know."

"You're a jackass."

"Please tell me your first name?"

"Fat chance, asshole."

At this point, Cadet Uhura turned on her heel and walked away from the mess. Spock considered this a very illogical choice of action, since he suspected she had not eaten yet, as she was loitering by the entrance of the mess rather than the exit.

Spock wondered what the other cadet could have done to earn such animosity from the usually mild mannered Cadet Uhura. Surely the argument was of a personal nature and the vehemence of it suggested a close relationship between the two cadets. He determined that it would be inappropriate to ask the cadet about such as subject, and the thought perturbed him for some reason. He decided that it was merely that his human curiosity had not been satisfied and continued on his way to the Cochrane building. During the whole of his observation of Cadet Uhura, his expression had not changed once.

Spock decided that it would not be inappropriate to make inquiry as to her general health and wellbeing. After her morning class with him seemed a particularly advantageous time to do so.

However, Cadet Uhura did not appear in class the next morning. Spock found that the class discussion lacked some of its usual liveliness. The absence did not, of course, affect his personal performance, but it appeared as though much of the enjoyment he derived from that class had in fact been derived from Cadet Uhura's enthusiasm and insights.

He regretted her absence, as was natural enough, but as soon as the class was over, he was sufficiently occupied with his duties that the thought of her absence did not trouble him. If the cadet was ill, it was only logical that she should take a few days off from her classes in order to recover. She was foresighted enough to arrange for someone to take notes for her. Spock was satisfied that her academic performance would not be affected by this illness.

That evening, however, his customary period for grading papers was interrupted by a chime at his office door. He glanced at his screen and saw that it was 2100 hours. A little late for an unscheduled student teacher conference. "Enter," he said coolly.

A skinny, extremely young cadet with curly blond hair entered awkwardly. "Excuse me, Commandeer Spock," he said in heavily accented standard. "Do you know vhere Cadet Uhura ees? She vas supposed to meet me here for a tyootoring session in introductory xenolingvuistics."

Spock blinked. In a half a second his Vulcan brain assessed the situation. Cadet Uhura had missed a tutoring appointment, no doubt due to her illness. Regulations stated that such an instance must be reported to the dean if the tutoring session was not appropriately canceled or covered. This was the logical choice, but Spock decided that it was equally illogical to allow such an exemplary student to receive a black mark on her record for behavior that was clearly not her fault. Even the most cursory academic investigation would show that it was not her fault, but it seemed particularly unwise for a cadet who was already unwell to be put through the process at all.

"Cadet Uhura is unwell," he said, quickly enough that the cadet could never suspect that Spock had needed to consider his response. "I will cover her tutoring session for tonight." It was not a lie, but Spock had learned at an early age that the complete truth was not always necessary.

The cadet looked terrified. "Oh."

The tutoring session ended at 2200 hours, and as soon as the cadet (a transfer student hurriedly completing some general education requirements he had missed) had gone, Spock returned to his office. "Computer," he said coolly as he sat at his desk. "Please contact Cadet Uhura in Room 314 of Sloane Residential Hall."

"Cadet Uhura is not currently in Room 314 of Sloane Residential Hall," the computer replied, its voice smooth and emotionless.

Spock tilted his head slightly. "Computer, locate Cadet Uhura."

"Cadet Uhura is currently in Phoenix Hall."

Spock's voice was as cool and even as the computers. "Campus map."

Instantly a map appeared on his screen. Phoenix Hall was immediately behind the Hoshi Sato Xenolinguistics Building. "Please contact her."

"Negative. Phoenix Hall is a library and quiet study lounge. No communicators are permitted within the confines of the lounge."

Spock stared at the map only a moment longer before he stood. He picked up his jacket and left the room, the lights dimming to black automatically as he left.

Phoenix Hall was one of the smaller, older buildings on campus, architecturally pleasing, if archaic in its construction. The interior of the building was well lit, but, unusually, it was carpeted rather than tiled. The ceilings were rather low compared to the more modern structures on campus, but this reduced echoing. At this point, the building was mostly deserted, and completely silent.

Spock walked briskly over to the nearest computer terminal. It was not voice-compatible, so he initiated a search with the touch screen and located Cadet Uhura in a study area one floor up. He strode to the stairs, deciding that the turbolift was unnecessary for such a short journey. Briefly, in the stairwell, he contemplated whether this search was a breach of privacy in some way, but decided that under the circumstances, it was not illogical. Since he would not see her in class over the weekend, and there was no guarantee whether she would even be in class on Monday, it was, in fact, illogical to delay the message he wished to relay.

As he entered the study area, he was not at all surprised to see that the cadet was asleep. She was curled on a couch, head resting on one curled arm. Study materials were laid out on the coffee table in front of her, and her boots were lying nearby. She was wearing her informal cadet uniform, which allowed females to forgo the customary skirt in favor of long red pants. She had a black hooded sweatshirt on over it, the hood pulled up over her head. Despite this, Spock could see that she was shivering slightly. He also detected the green glow of her wireless headphones and deduced that because of this she would be unable to hear him.

He hesitated for a moment. The cadet was smiling in her sleep, and it seemed ungenerous to wake her. Deciding that it was illogical to simply wait for her to awaken by herself, he reached out and touched her lightly on the shoulder. She stirred and opened her eyes blearily.

"Cadet Uhura," he said as she saw him and sat bolt upright again. "Are you unwell?"

"Commander Spock, what are you doing here?" She said, pulling her headphones out of her ears and rubbing a hand over her face. Her expression indicated that she was trying to remember what she had done to merit such a visit. "I'm so sorry I missed class this morning," she said, wincing in embarrassment.

"I assumed at the time that you were not well enough to come to class and had therefore made previous arrangements to acquire the necessary notes. I came because I felt it necessary to inform you that I have covered the tutoring session you just missed and therefore you will not need to apologize to Cadet Chekhov or report your mistake to the Dean."

There was long moment of silence. Spock observed that the cadet, who had been so pale a moment ago, was now blushing a dark scarlet under her natural pigmentation, though she had fixed her face into as dignified an expression as she could manage. "Thank you sir," she said quietly, almost too quiet to hear, "I'm so sorry, I promise it won't happen again, I can't think what happened to me, I--"

"Obviously you are unwell, cadet. Have you visited the medical staff to confirm a diagnosis?" Spock was almost alarmed to see the cadet turn an even darker shade of red. It was unusual for Cadet Uhura, usually so dignified and composed, to be at all embarrassed. He wondered if the blush could possibly be a symptom of a worsening illness.

"Not yet, sir," she said. "It isn't that bad."

"On the contrary, for a student with your impeccable academic record and flawless attendance to miss a class and a tutoring session in one day is certainly cause for alarm."

She was still blushing. Spock allowed himself a frown so tiny that no human could have detected it. Perhaps he was making her nervous. That would explain the expression on her face, which Spock could now only describe as "mortified."

Remembering their conversation of two nights ago, he sat down at the chair opposite her couch, in the hopes that it would make her less uncomfortable. "Cadet Uhura, I generally have nothing but respect for your intelligence, but it seems most unwise not to seek medical attention in this situation. I would deeply regret your extended absence from my class."

Uhura blinked. The blush faded slightly, and her expression softened. "I'm flattered Commander Spock."

"Given that you are unwell, I suggest that I again accompany you back to your room. I must inquire, do you have a roommate who could ensure that you visit the medical complex tomorrow?"

Uhura gathered her things. She seemed relatively unperturbed by the proposal that Spock accompany her back to her room. Perhaps she was growing accustomed to his company. "I have a roommate, sir," she said, with a touch of exasperation in her voice as she pulled on her boots. He deduced that the frustration was with the roommate and not himself, "but she won't be in the room tonight or likely all day tomorrow. She and some of my other friends are going camping this weekend. I decided not to go."

"Most prudent. If you do not have a suitable candidate to take you to the medical complex, I shall be on campus tomorrow in order to begin compiling grades for the end of semester."

She stood quickly. "You don't have to..." She was blushing again, holding her PADD to her chest and clearly uncomfortable.

Realizing that he was again breaching the norms of conversation that she had informed him of earlier in the week, he stood. "There will be no inconvenience on my part. It is logical, since I have some understanding of the nature of your illness and may be able to offer further insight to whatever medical professionals you wish to consult. My observations are generally accurate."

Uhura looked down and mumbled that she didn't really think it was necessary. "I think I know what I have anyway, not that there's a damn thing anybody can do about it."

Spock nodded, gesturing courteously for Uhura to walk ahead of him as they left the building. It took him only seconds to formulate what he considered to be a correct and logical counter to her point. "There are indeed some facts of life that medical science has not yet been able to counter, even in the 23rd century. All beings inevitably age and die," he spoke quietly, and with all the assurance of logic. "They still suffer from occasional inexplicable headaches and the indignity of the common cold, for which science can offer no reliable remedy." He opened the door to the stairwell for her, and walked beside her as they walked down towards the ground level. "Injuries, if severe enough, can still result in the death of the injured party. Despite substantial advances, a blade through the heart is still as fatal as ever it was, and any disease," he concluded "if untreated, has potential to result in substantial harm, even death."

He paused at the bottom of the stairs and faced his student. "Consequently it is illogical to deny oneself medical treatment for a condition, particularly if one is uncertain what the exact nature of the affliction is." He prompted the door to open and stood aside to permit her to pass.

"Your logic is flawless, Sir."

"Thank you."

She sighed as she walked through the door. "I promise I'll go see the doctors tomorrow. But you do not need to accompany me, Commander, I assure you I am perfectly capable of getting there."

"That is illogical. You cannot know that your condition will not become worse."

"It seems unlikely."

"Nevertheless, it would be prudent to have a friend who can ensure that you get to the medical center."

"A friend?"

Spock inclined his head slightly, "Or a teacher."

An odd expression crossed the student's face, one that Spock had difficulty identifying at first since it seemed so out of context. It most resembled disappointment, he decided as he followed her towards the entryway of Phoenix Hall. Disappointment indicated that she was dissatisfied with his answer to her most recent question. As they left the building he concluded that she must have wanted him to reply differently. Did she desire to consider him a friend? Did that require his permission in some way?

He allowed himself another minuscule frown. What could be the purpose for their being friends? Humans required friendship and conversation from those they considered to be equals, but it was surely improbable that she, a human, considered him, a half-Vulcan, to be an appropriate choice for a friend. It was highly unlikely that they would have enough shared experiences and opinions to coexist with a bond as close as friendship.

It did not occur to him to consider whether being friends with her would please him or not. That was not a Vulcan way of thinking.

He had not looked at Uhura since they had stepped out of the building. He suspected that he would find her expression distressed if he did. He also found that humans did not always appreciate the intensity of a Vulcan's stare. Since he had no desire to increase her distress, he chose to stare instead at the stars above them.

"I think I'd like to walk," she said suddenly, and Spock glanced at her, noticing that she too was staring upwards at the stars.

"Are you certain?" he asked. "It seems unwise, given your current condition."

"I have an escort," she noted, raising her eyebrows at him.

"True," he said, lapsing into silence as he acknowledged the logic of her observation. No harm would come to her as long as she was not alone.

"I believe," she said after a moment, "That it is my turn to make small talk."

"I was unaware that it was necessary for this behavior to be taken in turns," Spock said.

"It isn't," she said, folding her arms across her chest and shivering, "But it can be polite."

"Are you cold, cadet?"

"It isn't so bad," she said. "And the stars are beautiful tonight."

Without another word, Spock took off his jacket and handed it to her. "I am not sick," he said, anticipating her demurral.

She could not argue, and so she pulled his too-large jacket on over her hoodie. The sleeves hung down to her fingertips. "Thank you."

"I think you will find it more than satisfactory. It is of Vulcan design, and incorporates a micro heating system. We Vulcans frequently find the climates of other planets... inhospitably cold."

"Vulcan is a desert planet, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said. Sensing that she desired further explanation as part of the ritual of small talk, he continued. "There are many mountain ranges and several small seas as well. It has a higher gravity and thinner atmosphere than earth." He glanced up at the sky again, noticing the rising crescent of silver there, he added, "There are no moons."

They continued to walk in silence for a few moments. "I believe you are from a desert region, are you not?"

"A savanna, really. In the African Confederacy. It's beautiful. Flat savanna grasses like golden waves as far as the eye can see, just a few trees and herds of antelope roaming through."

"You miss it," he says, detecting that emotion in her voice.

"Don't you miss your home?"

He cocked his head slightly. "That is a human emotion. But there are a host of personal memories associated with Vulcan, and a familiarity with the landscape that I do not have when I am off-world. I am more accustomed to Vulcan's atmosphere and temperature."

"I would say that counted as a kind of homesickness," she said.

"Homesickness is a human affliction. Vulcans are not prone to such emotions." He paused. "Suffice it to say that I comprehend the source of your emotional response, but I do not necessarily feel the same way, myself." He glanced over. He knew that his observations on the subject of emotion frequently caused consternation and distress in humans, but Uhura was, inexplicably, smiling.

"Well I don't know about you, but I think that San Fransisco is a little too cold and wet for my tastes, generally.

"I would agree. But there are valuable experiences to be had here, and I would not consider the weather to be of greater importance."

"Me neither." She paused. "And I love the bay."

They continued to walk in silence.

"I had intended to ask whether you had managed to acquire notes for the classes you missed?"

"I got one of my friends to record the lectures for me. I was listening to yours when you found me."

"You were asleep," Spock pointed out quickly.

"You must forgive me," she said, wincing. "Trust me, it wasn't that your lecture was in any way less interesting--"

"Not at all. Your absence certainly had a detrimental effect on the class."

The silence returned again, and this time Spock wondered to himself whether it was what she would call an awkward pause. He glanced at her face, but her customary dignity had returned. He had always found her expressions difficult to read prior to her illness, he recalled. He remembered noticing that on the very first day of class. While the other students had been obviously nervous, excited, terrified or simply curious, she had worn an expression of quiet, composed dignity that was... well, it was almost Vulcan.

He recalled suddenly that she had been smiling when he had roused her in the Phoenix Hall study lounge.

Looking up as he felt a chilly breeze on his skin, he noticed that some of the stars above them were obscured. "Perhaps it would be wise to seek a hoverbus," he noted.

She looked at him, and then glanced up at the gathering clouds. "We're almost there now. Besides, the air is making me feel better."

"That is illogical," Spock noted. "Earth's atmosphere has no known medicinal properties."

"It could be psychosomatic," she pointed out.

"A human theory, with little basis in scientific fact."

"I'm sure you're right. But at this point, we'd spend more time waiting for a bus than it would take to get to the building."

Ominous rumbling filled the air, and Uhura started walking faster. Spock lengthened his pace to keep up. "Do they have surprise thunderstorms on Vulcan?" she asked, a look of apprehension on her face as she eyed the clouds.

"No," he said simply. "We have sandstorms and lighting storms. Earthquakes. Volcanoes. No thunderstorms."

"Have you ever even been outside in the rain?" she asked, her apprehension overtaken by surprise.

"It seems a most illogical pursuit, when there are perfectly accessible hoverbuses from almost every point on campus."

The sky rumbled ominously again. Unconsciously, Spock glanced up at it, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"There's no need to be worried," she assured him. "The whole campus is protected from lighting strikes."

"I am not worried," he said flatly.

As if on cue, Rain swept across the campus from the east and started to fall in buckets over the pair of them. Spock hunched his shoulders against it, and looked over at Uhura, who had pulled her hood over her head again. "Can you run?"

She nodded. "I think so."

"Then I suggest we do so," he said, and she nodded again. They began jogging towards the bulk of Sloane Residential Hall.

Halfway there, Uhura's slowing step slipped on the slick grass. Instinctively, Spock's hand shot out to steady her. He kept a grip on her upper arm the rest of the way to the building's overhang before he paused to look at the cadet, his brows furrowed slightly. The hood of her sweatshirt was dripping. She was peeling off his jacket, which, while warm, was not waterproof. Her clothes, which had been covered by the coat, were damp despite their relatively protected state. She was shivering again.

"I advise you to return to your dormitory immediately. You must be certain to ensure that you are dried and warmed before you go to bed."

She nodded, coughing again. "Of course, sir."

Spock frowned very slightly. "I could be mistaken, Cadet, but I have been told that there are some experiences which humans believe cannot be shared without becoming friends. Is being caught outside in a rainstorm such an experience?"

"I believe so, sir."

Spock nodded, apparently satisfied. "Then if you feel that you are unable to make your way to the medical complex without assistance, you shall have a friend on campus upon whom you may feel free to call. Sleep well, Cadet Uhura."

He turned and stepped out from under the protection of the overhang into the pouring rain.

"Commander," she said suddenly, making him turn back to face her. I believe it is customary for friends to call each other by their first names," she said, shouting to be heard over the rain. "My first name is Nyota."

"I am afraid you would find mine unpronounceable," he replied. "But thank you, Nyota."

"You're welcome, Mr. Spock," she said, before she hurried indoors.

Spock decided that since he was already soaking wet, it would not be entirely illogical to walk back in the rain.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not making any money. Don't own shit.

Chapter 2

The next morning, Spock was in his office in the Xenolinguistics building, computing grades from his advanced Phonology lab when the screen pinged to inform him that he had an incoming message. He tapped the screen, allowing video footage of Cadet Uhura's face to fill his screen. She looked worse, much worse than she had even the previous night with cold rain dripping down her face. Her hair, usually ramrod straight and pulled back severely from her face, was tucked in a loose, low ponytail, frizzy strands making a halo around her face.

"Commander Spock," she said, her voice very hoarse indeed.

"Cadet Uhura," he replied. Since she had addressed him by his title, it seemed only appropriate to use hers.

She gave a very weak, very wry smile. "I think I need some help."

"Unsurprising, considering how wet and cold it was last night."

"I hope _you're_ OK," she said, concern showing through her hoarseness and her exhaustion.

"I am hardly the one we should be concerned about."

"Yeah," she said weakly.

"Shall I meet you outside your residence?"

"No," she said, sounding a little embarrassed. "I'm not there. I'm in a terminal outside" she turned her head to look behind. "Outside the Theoretical Physics Lab. I got on the hoverbus to go the medical center and fell asleep."

"It is still raining, Nyota," he pointed out, brow furrowing with concern.

"Yeah," she said, "Believe me, I'm aware. I just..." She gave a short, sharp sigh, and blinked. "I just didn't want to be a burden, and I know you're busy but I didn't know who else to call and... I'm just a little lost here."

Spock realized that the cadet was on the verge of tears. It shocked him to see her so discomposed. "I shall be there shortly, Nyota," he assured her.

She took a steadying breath, and the urge to cry vanished from her face as she collected herself. "Thank you, Spock."

Spock terminated the transmission and picked up the waterproof blazer he had worn when he left his apartment. He walked out of the building and determined that it would be faster for him to cut across the lawns of Starfleet academy than wait for a hoverbus.

Uhura was sitting on the bench of the hoverbus terminal, wearing the black hooded sweatshirt she had worn the previous night. She was wearing civilian clothes, a pair of dark blue jeans that looked to be a little too big for her. Spock wondered if she had lost weight. He seemed to recall that she had not been so thin at the beginning of the semester.

A sheet of transparent aluminum protected her from the light but steady rain. Spock stepped under the cover of the terminal and put back the hood of his jacket. She looked up at him, and he was careful to keep his face completely impassive. She looked even worse in person than she had over the computer screen. She gave a wan little smile, which he, naturally, did not return. Standing to one side, he clasped his hands behind his back, looking down at her.

"Are you feeling at all better?" he asked.

She shook her head with a wan smile. "No, but I'll be OK."

"You are not qualified to make such an assertion."

"I just fell asleep on the bus," she said, shrugging one shoulder as if to dismiss it as unimportant

"So you said."

"I promised myself that I wasn't going to bother you again, but when I got off the bus, I wasn't sure where on campus I was. I thought if I got back on the bus, I'd just fall asleep again," she said. "And miss my stop. Again." She sighed again, the short, sharp sigh he had heard earlier. "I hate being so--" She stopped mid sentence, looking down.

Sensing that she was experiencing an emotional moment, he turned and pushed the touchpad to summon the hoverbus. When he sat beside her, she had composed herself.

"Thank you for coming," she said again.

"It was not at all inconvenient," he assured her.

She shook her head. "You must think I'm an idiot."

"Not at all," he said. "I know you to be one of the most intelligent, capable humans I have ever met."

"It's very nice of you to say that, Spock."

It took him a moment to judge the exact intension of her tone. "The implication that I have overestimated your worth is completely inaccurate, I assure you," he replied at last. "Vulcans do not lie about such things. It is illogical."

"I didn't know that," she said. "Vulcans don't lie?"

"Not generally. If the situation calls for it, we may refuse to answer the question." He looked over at her and perceived a strange expression on her face. "You seem contemplative."

"Yes, well... I guess I've been wanting to ask someone, but I wasn't sure it would be correct. I mean, these things are sometimes confidential."

"That should not stop you asking," he said, "If an answer is inappropriate, then it would not be given and there would be, as the saying goes, no harm done."

"That makes sense." She turned to face him. "I'm graduating at the end of this year, and they're starting to ask us to think about any preferences we might have about what ship we end up serving on. I want to serve on the Enterprise."

"That is a lofty goal."

"I know. That's why I want it." She paused, looking expectant. "Do you think there's a chance I'll get a posting there? If I ask for it?"

Spock considered only for a moment. "I think it highly unlikely that you would be permitted to serve aboard any other ship, even if that were your desire. You have an unparalleled ability to identify sonic anomalies in subspace transmissions tests, and exceptional oral sensitivity. A cadet of your talents will surely be greatly sought after."

She was blushing again, but there was a smug smile on her lips. "Does this surprise you?" he asked.

"Not entirely surprised, if I'm honest," she shrugged. "I'm still pleased."

"You have earned it."

A hoverbus came to a halt in front of them and Spock rose, offering Nyota a hand. She accepted it, following him onto the bus. "Lucas Medical Center," Spock said crisply to the automated driver.

They took a seat near the front of the bus this time. There were two students and a professor sitting near the back of the bus, chatting idly about a class. Nyota pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up and slumped against the transparent aluminum, falling almost instantly asleep, leaving Spock to silence.

Spock watched her for a moment, then stared straight ahead and began mentally calculating a student's grade. Moments later the bus stopped outside Cochrane Engineering Building and the three other riders exited the bus. Uhura shifted slightly without waking.

The bus started forward and turned in a slow wide arc around to head towards Lucas Medical Center. Uhura's weight shifted, her lolling head coming to rest inches from his shoulder.

For a moment, Spock experienced a spontaneous urge to push back a strand of unruly hair which had fallen across her face. It was not the passing echoes of emotion he had to endure on occasion when a situation aroused a human reaction. It was a strong compulsive reaction, one that he denied with some difficulty. His hand may have twitched in her direction, but Spock's control was almost absolute.

Of course, he did _not_ gently smooth the the cadet's hair away from her face, but the instinct left him perturbed. He had occasionally been disturbed by impulsive human emotions in his youth, but mostly it had been anger and frustration that found it's way past his Vulcan control. Very occasionally in his extreme youth he had engaged in spontaneous displays of affection towards his mother, but never had such an urge overtaken him for a human to whom he was not related.

Perplexed, Spock sought a logical explanation for the urge and could find none. It was illogical to feel such a surge of affection, particularly for a student, particularly for a student in such a vulnerable position. It was improper and disrespectful to her independence.

After moments of quiet contemplation, he decided that the only logical source for the emotional reaction lay in his own prolonged absence from Vulcan. His mother had always been affectionate towards him, perhaps some distastefully human part of him desired that attention. But how weak, how irresponsible of Spock to allow such an emotion to affect him! He felt a strong surge of anger, this time directed at himself. Had he progressed so little since his childhood?

Vulcans acknowledge that, for other species, some emotions serve a logical purpose. Self-loathing is not one of those emotions. It is widely accepted among Vulcans as the most illogical and weak of the plethora of emotions felt by other species. It was the first emotion that Spock had attempted to cleanse himself of, and it was the last to leave him. For the first time since before he left Vulcan, Spock felt a shadow of his oldest enemy. How could he, after all these years, still find himself giving into human weaknesses when he knew himself to be above them?

Firmly, Spock returned to his calculations. He knew this path, and he knew where it led. An emotional experience would lead him into a pattern of disgust for himself, and this could interfere with his ability to function, if her permitted it to. It had in the past. It was not logical, and he would not allow himself to be drawn back into the mistakes of his youth.

The bus came to a halt and Spock gently roused Nyota. They disembarked and Spock silently led the cadet towards the medical center, as she yawned blearily.

Spock sat in the waiting room, watching the activity around him and waiting for Nyota to return from her examination. It had been approximately fifteen minutes and he estimated that it would take five or ten more at the very least for a diagnosis to be reached. To his surprise, he saw her emerging from the near hallway only seconds later, putting a piece of paper in her pocket along with a small bottle of pills. She smiled at him as he stood.

"Shall we return?" he asked after a moment, not wanting to pry. Humans occasionally considered illnesses to be very private things.

Uhura nodded, resignation on her face. "I'll need to get some things from my room and tell Gaila."

Spock cocked his head in an unspoken question.

Uhura sighed. "I've been ordered to move temporarily."

"To quarantine?" Spock surmised. "Are you contagious?"

Nyota was shaking her head. "Nothing like that." They left the medical center as she continued. "Well I am contagious, but not if I'm careful. No, I've got orders to move temporarily into one of the unused suites in the Phoenix Building."

"I was unaware that the Phoenix Building contained suites. It is a library, is it not?"

"There are guest quarters above the study hall." She sighed again, hunching her shoulders against the drizzle still falling around them as they made their way back to the hoverbus. "It's closer to the Sato building, and I'm not supposed to walk more than I have to. I'll have to cancel all my tutoring sessions too. And drop Jujitsu. Dammit," she snapped, more to herself than to him. "Sorry," she said, smiling apologetically to him.

"There is no need to apologize. I believe the expletive is appropriate in your situation."

"Thanks for everything," she repeated as they approached the terminal. She summoned the hoverbus, and Spock heard it's telltale whir over the patter of rain on the pavement.

"Do you require assistance moving your things?"

She paused. "May I speak frankly?"

"Of course."

She eyed him speculatively. "I _absolutely_ need help moving my things, but I know that there are several young male cadets who would leap at the opportunity. I would much rather have your assistance, but don't you think..." she was blushing again. "Won't people talk?"

"Talk about what?"

"Students and professors get into trouble all the time..." she murmured, trailing off into silence.

Spock did not speak for a moment, his face impassive in the rain. "If you feel that my presence would compromise your reputation, I will certainly return to my office and allow you to seek help from other sources. However, let me assure you that it is perfectly acceptable for a student and teacher, two friends, to assist each other on a weekend. For someone to suggest that I of all professors had developed a romantic attachment with such slight evidence would be... highly illogical."

She smiled at him gratefully.

Spock felt something, briefly, though it did not show on his face. It flared briefly in his chest before he promptly dismissed it. Such fleeting emotions occasionally troubled him in periods of stress, particularly at the end of the semester. With the exception of the impulse he had experienced earlier on the bus, he rarely had difficulty ignoring them. He was acting logically. It was the Vulcan thing to do.

Spock would have had no difficulty carrying all her bags himself, but she told him that he looked like a pack mule when he did and took one of the duffel bags to carry herself. He did not perceive the similarities she noticed, but considering her illness, decided that it was acceptable to indulge her simile. It did impede them somewhat, since he had to slow his pace to match hers, but he did not complain.

By the time they got to the top floor of Phoenix Hall, security had already unlocked the room which she was to be staying in for the duration of her illness. It was larger than her dorm, with a small living area separated by a partition from her sleeping quarters. Spock suspected that it had not been used in some time, if the smell of stale air was any way to judge. It had stopped raining while they were on the hoverbus, and Nyota moved to open the windows, revealing a beautiful view of the campus.

"I have been attempting to deduce the nature of your illness," Spock said as Nyota dropped, exhausted onto the couch in front of the window. "I thought that it must have been a private matter, but I have to admit, no illness I am aware of matches the exact description you have provided. I do not mean to intrude."

"Not at all," she said, in an unconscious imitation of him. She was curling on the couch like a cat. "It's just not something we humans like to advertise. It's called Mono."

"Mono?"

"Infectious mononucleosis. The--" she yawned hugely, "The symptoms are fever, sore throat, and fatigue. Lots of fatigue."

"There is no cure?"

She shook her head sleepily. "It'll pass... eventually."

"Since I have been in contact with you, may I ask how it is passed from person to person? I doubt that I could be affected, but it seems prudent to ask."

She was blushing again.

"It is a personal matter," he concluded immediately, "Forgive my intrusion." He turned to go, but she sat up sharply and grabbed his arm to prevent him.

"Wait," she said. "It's not personal, it's just embarrassing." she sighed.

Spock turned, hands clasped at the small of his back and waited patiently for her reply.

"It's called the kissing disease, because it's usually transferred through saliva," she said.

For the third time that day, Spock felt a twinge, the echo of an emotion, that stabbed painfully through his chest and was gone. He did not allow his expression to change, not wishing her to be uncomfortable. Such emotions were inexplicable and illogical, not worthy of attention. "I see." He paused. "Has your partner been informed of your condition so that he or she may seek medical attention?"

"Partner? What? No!" she said, "Oh god no."

"Would it not be prudent to--"

She waved a hand. "I mean that there is no partner. I didn't get it from kissing anyone," she shuddered.

Spock cocked his head. "You find kissing distasteful? Is that not unusual for a human?"

"I like _kissing _ just fine, Mr. Spock," she said, looking a little flustered. "I just... I know who I got it from, and we did not get it by that means."

"What other means are possible?"

She sighed. "Remember when I told you that we went out drinking the night after the Kobayashi Moru?" She shrugged slightly. "There's a cadet-- Jim Kirk-- he's been trying to get me to tell him my first name since the day we met. He kept switching our drinks, trying to get me drunk so I would tell him." She looked deeply annoyed. Spock surmised that this Kirk must be the young cadet she had argued with outside the Mess Hall.

"That seems a highly illogical method of acquiring information."

"Well it didn't work for him," she said. Spock was intrigued by the combination of expressions on her face. Bitterness and satisfaction did not seem to be likely to occur in conjunction. "It wasn't like he intentionally infected me, he didn't know, but still..." She yawned, lying back on the couch. "I guess it just... just bothers me because it doesn't seem to be affecting him nearly so much as it's affecting me." her eyelids were fluttering. "Thank you, again," she murmured. "for... everything."

Spock nodded. "In that case, I shall leave you to your rest, as clearly, rest is what you require."

She was already asleep. Spock quietly left, though he lingered outside her room for a moment after the doors had closed, his brows furrowed in contemplation.

Hours later, long after he should have been asleep, Spock was sitting on the floor of his apartment, trying to meditate. Not far away, his the screen of his work station glowed, the text and images providing a basic explanation of the nature of infectious mononucleosis.

As he had read the information, Spock had noted that the disease was more serious than the cadet had led him to believe. This conclusion brought with it a flash of something like annoyance, which he had duteously suppressed as he continued to read.

The article had been concluded by a quotation which summarized the opinion of one of earth's foremost experts in the field of medicine. "If mononucleosis were serious enough to represent a threat to a human life, it would surely have been eradicated by now." The quote continued with some useless humor about the nature of the so-called kissing disease, but the first part of the quote had brought Spock immediately from his position at his workstation to the floor. Meditation was undeniably required, as the contradiction suggested a flaw in his logic.

The doctor's point was valid, logical. Mono was not a serious threat to the cadet's health. Why then should Spock have felt that it was otherwise? And why had he not realized that his initial conclusion was false?

More importantly, what other supposedly logical decisions had he made in the last few days that were not based on pure logic?

Vulcans do not indulge in second guessing, but Spock had long ago accepted that had a weakness for certain indulgences that Vulcans do not generally allow themselves. In this case, Spock determined that it was necessary in order to gain a greater understanding of his actions. It had taken much time and self-discipline, but Spock was eventually satisfied that his decisions were not tainted with weak human emotionality. The contradiction in logic _must_ have stemmed from his relative ignorance on the subject rather than stemming from his human side.

With the exception of the non-incident on the bus, there had been only logical decisions and justifiably rational choices. And as to that urge that had almost overtaken him, he was able to satisfactorily attribute that to an unconsciously learned habit. His mother had frequently indulged in rearranging his attire and appearance. He must have subconsciously absorbed this behavior and now some human part of himself was attempting to transfer that impulse to a newfound friend.

The only emotional fact that he was forced to consciously acknowledge was that Nyota Uhura was, undeniably, his friend now. However, the code of conduct did not deem friendship inappropriate. As he had noted earlier, there would be no logical reason to censor their friendship. To presume that an emotional connection existed between a human and a Vulcan would be highly illogical.

~*~*~

Author's Notes: first of all: Wow! Thanks for all the reviews, everyone. I'm glad you guys are liking it :D Sorry that this chapter is a little shorter--Tune in tomorrow (hopefully-- if I get a chance to edit) for more SpUhura goodness!


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Lots of food-symbolism, musical parallels and Spock in denial_

_In agreement with several comments: Yes indeed, Mono does suck. I had it last semester. I got it from sharing tea with some fellow actors (Not from more enjoyable activities to my dismay!) and then I had to refrain from even breathing too hard on my boyfriend of the time –for three months-- because he played rugby and he couldn't afford to get it. I repeat: mono sucks._

_I said this to AtanaM, and now I will say it to all of you: It's really nice to hear you guys say that this sounds like Spock, because it means that reading it aloud in my very best Zachary Quinto voice was totally worth it, even though my brother now thinks I need to be committed._

_to mckennamacabre: DANGIT! I thought it was aural, but I wasn't sure, so I went to the IMDB, and it said oral, so I ran with it... _

**Disclaimer: Don't own it. If I did, things would be different. Spock would have a shirtless scene, for starters...**

Chapter 3

Despite her initial absences, Nyota did not miss another class for the rest of the semester. She was conscientious enough to move from her accustomed seat at the front of the class to one near the back, so that her drowsiness would not disrupt the other students. Her doctor's note stated that she had permission to skip class whenever she felt necessary, but apparently she never felt that it was necessary, despite her obviously growing exhaustion. There was only a few weeks left of classes, but Spock had learned that the course of mononucleosis could take several months with varying degrees of severity, depending on the person.

She was kind enough to warn him, and all her other professors, about the nature of her illness. Spock was therefore more lenient when he noticed her eyelids drooping at the back of his class. He frequently saw her head nod, only to snap back up with a look of intense consternation and annoyance with herself. In the context of Nyota Uhura, a student generally so composed and conscientious, Spock believed that the sight would be classified as amusing.

She did cancel all her tutoring sessions, but she continued to spend that time in the xenolinguistics lab. As she worked, Spock frequently observed a look of annoyance on her face, faint enough to go unnoticed by a human observer, but Vulcans were keen in all their observations. What was doubtful to him was the exact nature of the cause of such an expression. Was her workstation experiencing a minor malfunction? But if that were the case, she would not choose to continue sitting there when there were clearly other stations to be had.

During the second week of her illness, Spock decided that it would not be inappropriate to question her about the behavior. Approaching her station, he noted that she was staring hard at the screen, though she seemed to be making no progress on the translation she was attempting. He stood behind her for a full minute before she noticed him there, his hands clasped at the small of his back.

"Hello Commander," she said, a smile smoothing out the wrinkle that had been between her brows.

"Nyota, you seem..." he paused, searching for the appropriate descriptor, "Frustrated."

"I am," she said she waved her hand in annoyance at the screen. "I can't concentrate." she continued, rubbing her eyes. "All my notes keep... running together. I keep drifting off and I just... can't focus." She ran her fingers over her scalp, causing pieces of her hair to spring out of her ponytail and create a frizzy halo around her face.

"Have you eaten yet? I know that lack of food can disrupt a human's ability to concentrate."

Nyota glanced at the chronometer on her screen. "I wanted to finish this translation before I got dinner."

Spock glanced at the screen too, analyzing the work she had yet to complete and the time she had left to complete it in in less than a moment. "At your current pace, it seems highly unlikely that you will complete your work before the mess hall closes."

"I know."

"I suspect that skipping meals is not conducive to your general health."

She sighed. "It isn't."

Spock paused. "If you are willing," he said, "I frequently take my meals in my office."

"So that's why I never see you at dinner," she said suddenly. This outburst brought a slight flush to her cheek, as if she felt that she had said too much.

To assure her that he did not find her outburst embarrassing, he nodded and elaborated. "My presence in the Mess Hall is not always desirable to all, and I find that the conversations of my colleagues and of humans in general are illogical and difficult to follow, as they seldom progress in a linear fashion. Including yourself," he nodded generously to her, "I believe there are only half a dozen humans that I actively enjoy conversing with." He paused before returning to his original train of thought. "due to my dining habits, I always keep my office well stocked with Plomeek soup. If you would care to join me, I believe this arrangement would allow you to complete your essay and have dinner at the same time."

"Plomeek?"

He inclined his head slightly. "It is a Vulcan dish. It is not incompatible with the human palate. I do not know if it will be to your liking, but--"

"That sounds great, Spock," she said, cutting him off with a smile. "Soup's exactly what I need. The pills I got for the sore throat don't really work, and anything more substantial than soup is too painful to swallow."

"I am sorry that your illness is impeding your ability to function," he said, sincerity in his dark eyes.

She smiled gratefully up at him. "I don't know what I'd do without your help."

Spock considered briefly, "I do not believe that your grades would be severely affected by my absence," he said, turning on his heel to go back into his office.

"Grades, maybe not," she said, gathering her things and following him. "But my general well-being?" she snorted.

He pursed his lips. "I am attempting to expand my understanding of human non-verbal communication. I take it that you mean to imply that my assistance has been beneficial to your wellbeing?" he said, pondering as he keyed open his office door. "That may be true. It is, at least in part, a self-serving action." he noted, following her into his office and moving to the cabinet behind his desk.

"How so?"

"Your presence in class, even in your current condition, is beneficial both to myself and your fellow students. Also, as it is likely that you will serve aboard the Enterprise upon graduation, it is in my own best interest to ensure that you have the best possible training and are in the best possible health."

Spock produced a self-heating container of broth and a spoon. He squeezed the seals that kept the container closed, releasing a puff of coiling steam and the subtly spicy scent of Plomeek. He turned back to face Uhura. Her expression seemed to indicate that he had not fully answered the question to her satisfaction, so he chose to elaborate.

"It is in my best interest as I have every intention of serving as science officer aboard the Enterprise myself." He held out the container to the cadet, who was looking stunned. "You may find that the flavors are subtle. Not all humans appreciate them, but I assure you, it is entirely nourishing."

"I had no idea you would be science officer." She accepted the broth, holding it close to her chest as if to gather warmth from it. With the other hand she laid her study materials onto his desk.

Spock nodded, closely observing her rapidly changing expression. "I trust that this news has not upset you in any way?"

"Not at all," she said, "Just surprising. Somehow I never imagined you on the bridge of a starship."

"I assure you, I am a scientist first. While the Enterprise is being completed, Captain Pike suggested that I teach at the Academy during the interval." Spock pulled a chair from the corner of the room, allowing Uhura to sit in front of his desk. "He has implied an intention to take me on as first officer as well, although that is at least partially speculation. There are many capable officers expecting assignment to the Enterprise."

"I'm sure you'll get it, Spock," she said, unconsciously reaching out to pat his arm.

Spock stiffened fractionally at the affectionate contact, barely enough for Uhura to notice. Her touch was cool to his skin, even through the material of his shirt. He tried to recall if they had ever touched except for offered hands of greeting or assistance. She pulled back her hand and busied herself with the soup, sipping a spoonful. Spock stepped away and went to sit at his desk across from her. He pulled up a student's essay on his screen while she continued to work on her PADD, sipping Plomeek as she did.

"How does the broth agree with you?"

She did not immediately answer.

"You find it bland?"

"Not precisely," she said. "Not bland exactly, but... It's missing something."

"My mother frequently said the same thing," he noted. Out of respect for her studious intentions, he did not say aloud what he thought next. _Humans generally find that Vulcans lack a certain something._

This was a ritual they repeated frequently over the course of the next few days. Nyota began bringing tiny bottles of spices with her, looking for just the right additive to improve the Plomeek soup to her satisfaction. Spock became accustomed to her presence in his office.

She would frequently put on headphones, listening to music. After inquiring about her preferences (she generally listened to classical music while studying), he suggested some Vulcan symphonies she might enjoy. She agreed that they should exchange music, and brought him a memory stick containing pieces by her favorite composers.

His acquaintance with Earth music had been relatively limited to that point, since his mother had actively preferred the sounds of the Vulcan lute, but he soon found himself developing an appreciation for ancient classical compositions. Nyota had a passion for Mozart, and Spock was surprised to find himself appreciating the complex melodies and interplay of instruments.

Spock had decided that these interactions, comparing taste in music and sharing food, did not constitute an improper relationship, and since he had not had an emotional episode since their ride to the medical center, he decided that he had successfully purged it from his system. For that, Spock was somewhat relieved.

It did not even occur to him to wonder how Nyota felt. It was illogical to even consider the possibility that someone who had stated their feelings to be that of a student and a friend might, in actuality, feel differently.

On the last day of classes, Spock bade farewell to his students, as he had been told that such goodbyes were customary for humans. Uhura, upon passing him at the podium, simply said "See you later, Professor." Spock found that this pleased him.

The cadet had not recovered from her illness, and continued to have study sessions and simple Vulcan meals with Spock in his office throughout exam week. Her studying was generally frenzied, intense. It left little time for conversation.

Spock graded papers to pass the time, but allowed himself moments of leisurely observation in order to ensure that the Cadet was not overworking herself into a deeper state of illness. She did not look any less tired than she had in previous weeks, but, thanks to the nutritious plomeek, she had gained back some weight. She frequently dozed off on his desk. Several times he allowed her to sleep there for a substantial period before rousing her and suggesting she return to her room. There was something pleasing in the aesthetics of her face when the peaceful expressions of slumber crept over it.

And, he noted, she always arrived with a smile and left with her now routine "See you later." It never ceased to please him that she would return. Her presence was soothing and familiar. He began to understand why humans so frequently sought to be in the company of those they considered to be friends.

At the end of exam week, Nyota arrived in his office at their customary time, but without her usual study materials. The first movement of Mozart's Symphony # 40 in G Minor was playing quietly in the background, as Spock approached with the customary bowl of Plomeek soup.

Nyota produced a tiny bottle. "I think I may have found the perfect addition," she said, smiling.

"Indeed?" he said, handing over her bowl.

She nodded vigorously. "A friend of mine, a medical cadet, suggested it. It's lemon basil."

"A hybrid?" he inquired, with interest.

She nodded. "It's a very... complex flavor," she said, sprinkling the pale green powder over the bowl as she sat in her usual chair across from him. "All the citrus-y sourness of a lemon, but it still tastes like basil."

She stirred briefly and brought a spoonful to her lips. "Oh Spock," she said, her voice thick with delight as she took another spoonful. He raised his eyebrows at her rapturous expression. "Oh Spock, you have got to try this."

"Out of friendship," he said, laying aside his own soup and reaching for hers.

"Wait, I'm still contagious," she said.

"It seems highly unlikely that a mere human virus would be able to stand against a Vulcan immune system. I have never heard of this disease having been contracted by a Vulcan in our long history of association with humans."

She gave in to his logic and allowed him to take the bowl and take a spoonful with his own spoon. The added flavor was not unpleasant. The unexpected but enjoyable zest of the lemon was not so strong as to eliminate the natural, earthy flavors of the plomeek. The flavor beneath it, which Spock decided must be the basil, blended almost perfectly with the taste of the plomeek, but brought a fullness and a richness that he had not realized it lacked.

"It is..." he paused, staring at the translucent broth now swimming with flecks of green, "It is entirely harmonious."

"Hmph," she said, taking the bowl back. "That's probably the best I'm going to get from you, isn't it?"

"Is more required?"

She sighed, and Spock sensed that this was a sigh of contentment, rather than one of dissatisfaction. "Not at all."

A moment of silence passed between them. Spock had finally learned to differentiate between awkward silences and their more pleasant counterpart, the comfortable silence. He believed that this silence was of the latter variety.

"I'm going to miss this," she said at last. "It'll be nice being home over the break, but I'm still going to miss this."

"Your intention is to visit your family?"

"It's my little sister's graduation. We're going to throw a big party."

Spock nodded.

Uhura looked up. "Are you going home to Vulcan?"

Spock shook his head. "It would be illogical. I shall be preparing documents for a colleague who is traveling to the gamma sector to observe magnetic phenomena."

"Why should it ever be illogical to return home?" she asked.

"I exchange regular correspondence with my mother, and there is no... specific reason that would require my visit."

"Is there a reason that would keep you away?"

Spock did not speak for a moment. Uhura looked slightly taken aback. "I didn't mean to intrude at all, commander, I--"

"Not at all, Nyota. I simply do not wish to cause you distress. I am not currently in communication with my father, and humans seem to find that fact upsetting. Anticipating the usual question, I would assure you that emotionality has little to do with our disagreement and there is no reason for anyone to be saddened by it."

"Not speaking? That seems..." she paused, "well it seems highly illogical."

"Not at all. It is simply that my father desired to see me take one path and my inclination was towards another." Her expression remained skeptical. "Let me see if I can explain it with a human metaphor. Imagine, if you will, that a project of yours, an experiment, has gone awry and the result is not as you had desired it to be. Would you linger over the failed experiment and, through emotional means attempt to force the result to change? _That_ would be illogical."

"Isn't that a little harsh on yourself, Spock?" she said, her eyes very wide and her brows furrowed with concern and sympathy.

"Not at all," he said brusquely. "It is simply logic."

There was another moment of silence. Apparently the cadet either could not think of a response or chose to keep her opinions to herself. Either way, he was grateful for her silence. Humans were most insistent that he should attempt to re-establish contact with his father. It was an argument that he had never anticipated having with anyone other than his mother. Every time a colleague attempted to force a reconciliation, he found it oddly disconcerting.

After another moment of silence, Spock determined that it was his turn to create small talk. He had come to enjoy this human ritual. It was mentally stimulating, provided that the other participant was in possession of an active mind. And even whilst she suffered the fatigue brought on by her illness, she never ceased to be a most engaging partner in this activity. He had not yet determined whether human conversation was preferable to the Vulcan custom of keeping silence when there was nothing of import to be said.

"I understand that you have completed your exams and applied for the post of Academy aide for advanced phonology and acoustical engineering."

"Mmhmm," Uhura said as she began scraping the bottom of her bowl of Plomeek soup.

"Are you certain that you will you be sufficiently recovered from your illness?"

She frowned. "I hope so. I don't feel any better yet. In fact, I feel worse."

"This is doubtless due to the stress of examinations and school. Rest and recovery with your friends and family should help, should they not?"

"You would think," she sighed. "But I have four younger siblings and two cousins who live not far away, and they all want _me_ to babysit them."

Spock blinked. "You have a large family."

"You are an only child, aren't you?" she set aside her soup, looking up at him.

"Indeed."

She nodded wistfully. "I used to wish I was."

"I do not see why."

"You didn't have to change diapers, or keep them from killing themselves, or get blamed for their mistakes or have to put up with all their constant _noise_."

"And you," he countered quickly, "were always assured of companions with whom you had a certain amount in common. You never lacked for playmates I assume?"

She blinked. "I suppose not."

"Do not underestimate the value of such things to children. In my youth, before I gained more complete control of my emotions, I recall very painful feelings of what I believe humans know as loneliness." He quietly finished his soup.

Looking up, he found Nyota staring at him, her expression concerned and sympathetic again. He did not find her pity was conducive to his enjoyment of their conversation. "I assure you," he said, "such emotions no longer affect me."

She said nothing. He could see that she did not believe him, and he could not fathom why. He had told her Vulcans did not knowingly lie. Unless she believed him to be lying unintentionally, there could be no logical explanation for her expression. He wished that they could change the subject

"What time is it?" she said suddenly, jolted out of her examination of him by a sudden thought.

"I believe it is almost 1900 hours. Why?"

"Shit," she jumped up, "I have to get packing. My flight leaves tomorrow, and I promised I would help Gaila study for her exam before I went to bed."

"Of course you must go then." Spock stood. "I will see you next semester, Nyota. I look forward to working with you."

"Thank you, Spock." She stepped up to the door. It swished open, but she did not walk through it. Instead, she stepped back, allowing it to swish closed.

"Did you forget something?" Spock walked over to her, ready to assist her.

Uhura turned, a look of intense contemplation on her face. She stood still for a moment, staring up at him. He stared at her face, but her expression was shifting too rapidly for him to read with any sort of accuracy. Impulsively, she slipped her arms under his and wrapped them around his torso, squeezing him to her.

A hug, Spock realized.

Her head was directly beneath his, all he could see was the top of her ponytail. The flowery scent of her shampoo filled his nose. He could not identify the exact plant type, but the smell was, nonetheless, pleasing. The bulk of her body was cool compared to his, and he could feel the slow, steady pulse of her heart against his chest.

Irrationally he was reminded of the old custom of knocking on a door before entering, as if her heart were knocking against his, asking permission.

"Forgive me," she said quietly into his shirt after a moment, "an irrational human display of affection." She squeezed him once more before she stepped away, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Of course," he said simply.

"I will miss you, Spock."

"As will I, Nyota."

She glanced once, quickly at his face, and left.

Spock cocked his head slightly, almost frowning as he considered the cadet's actions and what her intentions could logically be.

~*~*~

Concluding Author's Notes:

Thanks need to be sent out:

First to everyone who has reviewed!

Second to my mom: for introducing me to lemon basil in the first place, and for her astute and inspiring observation that Mozart was "too logical" for her to enjoy as much as Beethoven

Finally to my bestest evar friend, who leaned over to me in the movie theater and said "Spock needs a hug."

Incidentally-- if anyone is curious, this is the piece of music mentioned in the story:

.com/watch?v=-hJf4ZffkoI

Mozart FTW!

Please keep reviewing-- the next chapter is... eventful. *wicked smile*


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update. I had a busy weekend. Got to see Star Trek again, in IMAX this time :D Totally worth the ridiculous fees for getting tickets in advance!_

_Anyway, here's the next chapter-- slightly longer this time, even if it is a little clip-show-y... Let me know what you guys think...  
_

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own either Roddenberry's brilliant creation or Zachary Quinto's beautiful face. And that pains me.**

Chapter 4

Two hours later, Spock was about to leave his office when it occurred to him that Cadet Uhura would leave without having received her final grade for his class. Since he had finished with grading and she would be leaving tomorrow, he determined that it would be appropriate for him to deliver her grade personally. Since they were friends.

Minutes later he was standing outside her door. It did not immediately open. The lights indicated that the cadet was still within, and a commotion of noise seemed to indicate that she was not alone. Someone was shouting, and though he could not hear what was said, there was an edge of panic that seemed to suggest a problem.

Forcing himself to remain outside, he pushed the door chime once more. When this elicited no reaction from within save continued panicky shouts, Spock determined that whatever situation was transpiring within was preventing his being heard. He punched in his teacher override. The door light flashed briefly red and slid open with a squeaky whoosh.

Spock stepped hurriedly into the room, his sharp eyes seeking the source of the distress.

His first observation was that of a striking red-headed Orion cadet, who was kneeling over a prone Nyota Uhura.

"Nyota!" the Orion was saying, a gray shade of fear spreading under her green skin. "Tell me what's wrong! What should I do?"

"I believe," said Spock coolly and clearly, loud enough for the panicked cadet to hear, "That you should summon an ambulance."

The cadet looked up, relief and fear flooding her face. Orders she could follow. Jumping up, she moved to the communicator as Spock took her place at Nyota's side. Cadet Uhura wore an expression of dazed surprise, though her brows were contorted with obvious pain. She was clutching her side. Spock rain his hands over her clammy forehead and down to her neck. Her pulse was thankfully strong, if a bit fast.

"Nyota," he said, "What happened?"

"Spock?" she said slowly, her words slightly slurred, "What are you doing h--" she stopped mid-sentence, groaning and clutching her side.

"I need to know what happened, you appear to be going into shock," he repeated, but the cadet was in too much pain to answer.

Quickly deciding that a precise diagnosis was worth the risk, Spock grabbed the cadet's chin with one hand, forcing her to look up at him. "Forgive me," he said, "But I believe it to be necessary. Do not be afraid." His hand hovered by her face, silently seeking permission as he scanned her face.

Through her pained tears, she met his eyes and nodded.

The mind meld was the one truly Vulcan thing that Spock had always excelled at. Not that it was a skill to brag about, but he had been told that his melds were exceptionally delicate, and of all the students, his had the least likelihood of inflicting physical harm.

He laid his fingers on the side of her face, and she shivered slightly at his touch. He located the appropriate vessels and nerve endings on the temple, cheek and jaw. Gently, he reached into the Cadet's mind.

If he had not been forced to perform the meld, things might have turned out differently for them.

_She was in pain, but the pain was secondary now, secondary to an intense desire and seemingly bottomless trust. She wanted him to press his warm hand against the side of her face, savor the contact, between them, which was so rare, and so infinitely precious to her. She wanted to reach up and touch his face, lay her hand on his cheek and tell him she would be fine, that he didn't have to worry, she would always be there for him. She wanted to take away the loneliness, the fear she saw in his eyes. She wanted--_

Spock closed his eyes, concentrating harder, and dove into her memories. _Instantly, he was assaulted by a flood of recollections of himself. Finally he located the memory of only a moments before, when a gleeful Gaila had wrapped her arms around Nyota's waist and hoisted her roughly into the air, with a jubilant shout. "You are the best roommate ever!" _

_From within Uhura's mind, he could feel what she had felt-- the impact of Gaila's shoulder into her stomach, and the flood of pain-- slow and minor at first, then excruciating-- that had followed it_

That was the source of the cadet's physical injury. Spock was horrified to realize that _he _was the cause of her emotional injury.

He broke contact sooner than he should have, leaving the cadet gasping. She could not have heard his thoughts. He had been careful to guard himself from such an intrusion, but doubtless the sensation had been disorienting.

He looked up in time to see the doors open and a medical technician hurry in.

"She has a ruptured spleen, I believe," Spock said coldly. "A complication of infectious mononucleosis."

The EMTs nodded and moved to the cadet's side, as Spock stepped out of their way. Walking away from the frantic movements of the EMTs, he walked past the horrified Orion. "Is this... my fault, Commander?" she said in a small voice, tears rising in her eyes.

Spock eyed her coldly. "Not entirely, Cadet. A symptom of condition is the inflammation of the spleen. If blunt force is applied to the abdomen, it may rupture, resulting in internal bleeding."

Tears were streaming down the cadet's green face.

"There is no cause for concern," he said brusquely. "Your timely summoning of medical technicians all but ensures a successful operation."

Without another word, he left. Meditation was required, but he knew that he would not easily find peace tonight.

He needed time to meditate, time to consider what best to do, and most importantly, it was vital that he _not_ visit the cadet in her bed at the medical center. She was going to recover, this was indisputable. In this time, with this level of medical advancement, people simply did not die from lowly viruses or their unexpected consequences. The spleen was a nonessential organ, and it's removal was an operation that was considered uncomplicated even by the standards of 20th century medicine, let alone the best medical minds in Starfleet.

In the period of hours following the cadet's accident, Spock was given ample time to fully appreciate what might be called the "downside" of being Vulcan. He finished grading his papers, compiled research on magnetic phenomena, solved several complex equations and found a significant flaw in one of his colleagues' theories, but his Vulcan mind-- so well organized and spacious compared to a human's-- still had room for... other considerations.

He did not sleep at all that night. Not that sleep was necessary, for him. Vulcans are capable of going for days without sleep. He just found the process oddly soothing, and at this moment, soothing seemed to be precisely what he required.

As the sun came up the next morning and still Spock did not feel even the slightest inclination towards sleep, he determined that it was necessary for him to consider what had transpired the previous evening. Vulcans do not generally dwell on events they cannot change. Nor do they generally allow the feelings and perceptions of others to affect their personal decisions. Spock was forced to admit that he was not as entirely Vulcan as he would like.

So instead of sleep, Spock sealed the door of his apartment, selected a familiar Vulcan symphony, and sat down to sort through what he had seen in Cadet Uhura's mind. It was not the Vulcan thing to do, it was not respectful to the independence and privacy of the cadet, nor was it logical to dwell upon things which were obviously best forgotten. Spock was struck by the thought that, perhaps, necessary things were not always logical in a world of humans.

It would be best if he attacked the problem as he would a computing glitch. When programming the Kobayashi Moru, a simulation of immense complexity and variables, it was occasionally necessary to sift through every piece of vital programming from the beginning, to see where an error began.

He sorted out the memories of importance to his purpose and began with them.

_Someone was squeezing her shoulder, a feverishly warm hand that settled firmly on her shoulder and squeezed once. She sat up, disoriented, and the hand vanished. A Brahms piano suite was playing in her ears. She scrabbled to pull of her headphones and tried to remember where she was._

"_Cadet Uhura," she looked up at him, recognizing the dark hair and pale skin of Commander Spock. "I perceived that you had unintentionally fallen asleep at your station. Are you well?" His face was flat and emotionless, and the light overhead cast his eyes into shadow. There was something in his tone, though she doubted anyone else would have heard it_

"_Yes," the cadet murmured, trying to identify the anomaly. "Sorry. Thank you." Was he worried about her? Was that what she had heard in his voice? Or was it dismissal of a student who was clearly unable to handle her workload. She didn't think she could stand his pity or his patronization._

_The next few moments were so muddled with her intense embarrassment that she did not remember them clearly. Hot shame was in her cheeks, her throat was raw, like she had swallowed sandpaper, and all she could think was that she had humiliated herself in front of the one professor she considered an equal. They were talking, about what she hardly knew as she tried to hide how humiliated she was._

_She stood up, unplugging her PADD from her work station and reaching for her bag. The PADD slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. She reached for it, But Spock was already handing it to her in the time it took her to even figure out where the PADD had gone. _

"_Thank you." She took the PADD from him. He was standing up now, and the different position allowed her to see his eyes. His face was impassive, yes, but there was an expressiveness in his eyes, his dark, chocolate eyes._

"_Pardon any intrusion, cadet Uhura, but may I inquire which dormitory you are quartered in?"_

_Uhura frowned, momentarily thrown by the contradiction in his face. His voice and expression were flat, perhaps mildly curious, but his eyes were obviously concerned. "I'm in Sloane Hall. 314. Why?"_

_He straightened, his hands clasping at the small of his back. "I see." a fractional frown crinkled the skin between his eyebrows. "If I may suggest, Cadet, your reaction time seems to have been substantially affected by your exhaustion. If you have no objection, I would be willing to accompany you as far as your dormitory. Considering the substantial distance between the two buildings, it seems to me that it would be unwise to allow you to attempt to reach that building alone at this time."_

"_Thank you, Commander, but I'm sure it's unnecessary. The campus is perfectly safe." _

"_For anyone who is in perfect health. You are clearly not. If you are uncomfortable with the thought of being accompanied by one of your professors, then I can certainly ask security if they would be willing to provide an escort."_

"_Really, I don't think--"_

"_I estimate that you have approximately a 70% chance of reaching the Sloane building without requiring assistance, but since assistance has been offered, it seems prudent to accept my offer."_

_She knew then that she would never be able to say no to this man._

Spock pulled himself out of the memory, frowning at the emotions that the cadet had felt, but more at the emotion she had seen in his face. He had not believed himself to be emotional at their first encounter, but the cadet's observations were not incorrect. Still not entirely sure what he was looking for, he pulled out another memory.

_They were running through the rain, exhaustion dragging on Uhura's every step. Her foot slid sideways in the wet grass and she started to fall, but Spock's hand was on her arm. Warm even through the insulation of his jacket and her sweatshirt, he firmly pulled her upright, and left his firm, warm rip on her upper arm as they ran.._

_It was over too soon for Uhura's taste. She was confused to find that she liked the feel of his hand. They were standing under the shelter of the overhang now_

"_I advise you to return to your dormitory immediately. You must be certain to ensure that you are dried and warmed before you go to bed." His hair was wet, plastered dark against his pale forehead._

_She nodded, coughing again, the action tearing her throat. "Of course, sir." She looked up again and saw that he was frowning slightly again. A frown that very few would have noticed. One hand reached up and pushed his bangs out of his eyes, leaving them mussed, standing almost straight up. It was such a human action, Uhura wondered if the commander had even been aware that he was doing it._

"_I could be mistaken, Cadet, but I have been told that there are some experiences which humans believe cannot be shared without becoming friends. Is being caught outside in a rainstorm such an experience?"_

"_I believe so, sir." she said, smiling slightly at how his usually pristine Vulcan hair now resembled a teenager's badly gelled haircut._

_Spock nodded, something like happiness glinting in his dark eyes. "Then if you feel that you are unable to make your way to the medical complex without assistance, you shall have a friend on campus upon whom you may feel free to call. Sleep well, Cadet Uhura."_

_He turned and stepped out from under the protection of the overhang into the pouring rain._

"_Commander," she said suddenly, making him turn back to face her. The rain was flattening his hair unevenly across his forehead. She wanted to run out into the rain, grab his face and kiss him, hard, on the lips. But, of course, she didn't. "I believe it is customary for friends to call each other by their first names," she said, shouting to be heard over the rain, even though it hurt her. "My first name is Nyota."_

"_I am afraid you would find mine unpronounceable," he replied. "But thank you, Nyota." She thought, for a second, that she saw a hint of a smile on his face._

"_You're welcome, Mr. Spock," she said, before she hurried indoors, full of confusion._

Spock drew himself out again briefly, to compose himself. He reached up to rub his forehead, self-consciously smoothing his bangs. He had a clear idea of what to look for now.

_He saw himself, through her eyes, standing over her at the bus station, rain pattering on the glass behind his head. He felt her relief that it was not pity or annoyance she saw in his eyes. It was concern for a friend. She felt a surge of confused affection._

_When he had said " For someone to suggest that _I of all professors _had developed a romantic attachment with such slight evidence would be... highly illogical" She had smiled at him, but the words had been like a slap in the face. She had kept her eyes on his face, to show him that she was not an emotional human, to prove to herself that she was not compromised by an irrational attachment. She was surprised, confused, to see that as soon as he said the words, something like regret flashed in his eyes._

_And then came her memories of seemingly endless dinners with him. That had been like a little door opening into his life. She saw the loneliness in his eyes, even though his face and voice denied it. She pushed back her own feelings as best she could, because she knew that they would annoy the Vulcan in him, but she couldn't help wanting to be his friend. And soon she could no longer deny, even to herself, that her friendship with him had become the most important thing in her life. She wanted him to feel at home, to feel that around her he didn't have to feel different. And whether he consciously recognized it or not, she saw the gratitude in his eyes whenever he saw her walk into his office._

Spock firmly lifted himself out of the rush of memories and emotions that Cadet Uhura had left him with. He had much to consider, and many choices to weigh before he decided on a final solution to this... problem.

It took several days for cadet Nyota Uhura to get out of the hospital. Thanks to the advanced medical techniques available at Starfleet, the danger to her life had been slim. There were a battery of post-operative tests to be endured, but as soon as those were complete, she would come to his office, and find it empty. She would be disappointed, he knew from his experience of her emotional state. She might cry later, on her own. But she had a family anxiously awaiting her return. Many siblings and affectionate parents. A home that she missed. And she had not seen them in many months. And after graduation who knows how long it would be? Her desire to return home would override her desire to see him again.

And he would quietly resign and accept the position he had been offered aboard the USS Darwin. Scientific research suited him well, and there were other vessels in active service, not as desirable as the Enterprise, but less complicated. There would always be a place for him in the stars. It was for the best.

Spock was testing a theory. He had determined that the translation of musical notes from the human system to the Vulcan one would not be impossible. Since his grades were in and the Darwin would not arrive in port for another two days, he had decided that this would be a suitable project to fill his time. The Vulcan lute was not immediately adaptable, but it was the most readily available instrument.

He was playing the harp portion of the second movement of Mozart's concerto for harp and flute. Without the flute, the notes of the lute seemed to echo sadly, incomplete without their appropriate accompaniment.

There was a chime at the door. "Enter," said Spock, without pausing. He was familiar enough with both the instrument and the notes that he did not feel it was necessary to lay aside the lute yet. He could answer whatever colleague had come without disturbing his practice.

The door swished open, but there was no immediate call from the entryway to indicate who had entered. Perhaps they did not wish to disturb him.

Suddenly, Spock heard someone whistling the missing notes of the flute part, looking up, he was surprised to see Cadet Nyota Uhura enter the room, lips pursed as she flawlessly whistled the flute portion of the concerto. He recalled hearing her mention that she was vice president of the chorale ensemble.

It seemed rude to stop the impromptu concert, so Spock continued playing until the concerto reached its conclusion. The delicate, soft notes of the concerto hung on the air in Spock's apartment. The precision of his finger placement gave the harp part a precision it had likely never known from human hands. The ethereal notes of the lute echoed like star music. Uhura's performance was less perfect, less precise than his, less delicate than the flute generally was, but it was performed with obvious feeling and obvious love.

The concerto reached its inevitable conclusion, and Spock laid aside his lute. He stood, clasping his hands behind his back.

"I didn't know you played."

"The Vulcan Lute," he said simply.

"It's beautiful." There was a momentary pause before she continued. "Anyway, I came to say thank you for.. well for everything. You weren't in your office." Her eyes found his, a silent accusation in her eyes for a moment before they both looked away again. "I got Gaila to find out where you lived. She owed me one, you could say. I..." She looked up at him, trailing off into silence. Her eyes were very wide in her thin face. She still did not look entirely well. "You aren't saying much."

"I am not."

"What's wrong?"

"I did not wish... to cause you pain, and I knew that if you came it would be necessary for me to do so."

"How do you mean?" Her eyes here round, and very dark, he realized. Somehow it seemed to have escaped him before, that her eyes were so very expressive. He had been watching for changing in her mouth and eyebrows to judge her expression. He should have been watching her eyes.

"I believe an apology is required. I am sorry."

"For what?"

"The mind meld, the technique I employed to determine the nature of your injury, I believe that it was not necessary, as I had believed at the time. It was a breach of your privacy and I broke the Vulcan code of conduct concerning its use."

"As if I care about that," she said. "As if I'm going to accept an apology for your doing what you thought was necessary to save my life."

In a human' Spock's expression would have been something akin to a self-deprecating eye roll. On his face it was barely a twitch, an echo of an expression.

"Vulcans do not generally approve of second-guessing themselves, but I have spent much of the past two days doing just that." She opened her mouth to speak, but he raised one hand. "Please, allow me to finish." She closed her mouth and he continued, staring at the floor between them. "It is not only the meld I must apologize for. I have analyzed my... behavior," he did everything he could to remove the disgust he felt for himself from his voice. "I find that I have not been acting logically, beginning, I believe with the onset of your illness. The first night, when I went with you on the bus back to your dormitory, it was a logical choice, but not perfect logic. It was not Vulcan Logic. I should not have encouraged you to accept me as an escort. Security would have been more appropriate."

He glanced up at her. She was staring, her mouth slightly open and her eyes, her dark, expressive eyes, wide with uncertainty and fear.

"The next day, when I misled cadet Chekhov and again walked you back to your dormitory, I was acting in ways that were justifiable by logic, though now I see that they must have been tainted by other things." He swallowed back his distaste for this entire conversation and continued. "I would continue to illustrate, but I am certain you are beginning to grasp my point."

He looked up at her again, but saw only bewilderment and confusion. "No," she said, her voice oddly forlorn.

"Perhaps there is a need to explain further," he admitted. "You are human." He paused, again staring at the floor between them. "I have always endeavored to be as... Vulcan as I can be. As you know, Vulcans do not allow their decisions to be tainted by emotion. This is how we have done things for thousands of years. It is our most central belief.

"In my youth, I struggled with this tenant, but I believed, after coming to Starfleet, that I had found an environment where I could truly cleanse myself of emotions. On Vulcan I was... distracted. By the illogical prejudice of my fellows, by the affections of my mother, by my father's preferences and opinions. When I arrived at Starfleet, I discovered that by immersing myself in everything that was _not_ Vulcan, I was better able to put aside emotions and embrace purely Vulcan logic.

"I see now that I was mistaken. You allowed me to see that."

He looked up again, and found that, inexplicably, distressingly, she seemed to be on the verge of tears.

"When I melded my mind with yours, I saw myself through your eyes," he explained. Spock swallowed down a lump of anger at his own prideful stupidity as he recalled Uhura's memories. His face, through her human eyes, the affection and happiness that glimmered in his eyes when he looked at her. A human could mistake the signs, to a Vulcan they were broad as grins. He remembered her vision of their final conversation, which was full of emotion he had not known himself to be _feeling_, much less expressing. Forlorn emptiness in his dark eyes at his painful childhood memories. The blatant fondness expressed in his slight smile as she spoke. And after she hugged him, there had been confusion on his face, certainly, but also a dawning realization of desire, of love.

Spock closed his eyes, blocking out the humiliating memories. "I saw the emotions that you detected and interpreted as an emotional attachment bordering on love. I am forced to accept your conclusion as correct."

"Really?" she said. Her voice seemed very small to Spock, but he did not dare open his eyes or look at her. "You think you're falling in love with me?"

He nodded. "A very human way to put it." he continued. "This is obviously a breach of regulations, but more importantly it has been a betrayal." He forced himself to look up at her. "Of you. You trusted me to behave appropriately. As a Vulcan, as a teacher and as a friend. I have... failed spectacularly." he fixed his gaze back on the floor. "Since this seems to be the case, I therefore have prepared several steps in order to rectify the situation. I can only sincerely ask that you forgive my... breach of trust... and assure you that I will take steps to trouble you no more."

He paused, but only for a second. "I know that the feelings I allowed you to develop for me will make this a painful separation. But it is necessary. You must be allowed to continue your education. No one, no... confused half-human professor" he spat the words with surprising vehemence (for a Vulcan) "should be permitted to stand in the way of that. You must be allowed to carry on without further disturbance, and clearly I must seek further enlightenment elsewhere, if I am to become truly... Vulcan."

Her cadet's uniform filled his vision as she stepped forward, crossing the gap between them. She grabbed his face between her cool hands, forcing him to look up into her large, dark eyes. She stared into his eyes. "You want to leave me, and go out to God knows where, and purge the last of your emotions?" she said, slowly and clearly as if she could hardly believe what she was hearing.

"That is indeed my intention."

"I forbid it." she said, emotion vibrating in her rich voice. "I won't let you, Spock. I found those emotions, I brought them out in you, and they are mine. Not yours. I forbid you."

"That is simply un--"

She placed two fingers over his lips, silencing him. "It's my turn to speak." She paused for a moment, her eyes flying over his face. "I've wanted to say this for a long time, Spock. But I didn't know how to tell you. Now I do."

She reached down, and pulled his hand to her face.

"No," said Spock, realizing her intention.

"Let me say my piece," she said, an iron determination on her face.

She would not let him get out of this, he knew, but every fiber of his being, every cell of his Vulcan blood wanted to step away, but he could not. He laid his fingers on her temple, cheek, and jawline, seeking the appropriate pressure points. Finding them, Uhura welcomed him into her mind.

There was no hurry this time, no goal other than her desire to communicate, so he allowed her to communicate.

_A/N:_

_Sorry to leave you guys with a cliffhanger like that. I promise I'll update soon. I picked up the pace in this chapter, and I'm still not 100% sure that I did it well, so let me know what you guys think.  
_

_This is the Mozart piece featured in this chapter, for anyone who cares :)_

_.com/watch?v=GalkXM4h5SY&feature=related_

_Keep R&Ring-- it feeds my desire to edit and post ;D_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Don't own jack. Unsurprisingly still broke.  
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Chapter 5

There is a level of bonding achieved during a mind meld that cannot be fully verbalized. Human thoughts are generally so disordered, flowing and jumping without logic. Her thoughts, on this occasion, were surprisingly well organized. Spock suspected that she had spent some time developing these points.

_There were three things she wanted him to know, three things she needed him to feel._

_The first was the assertion that they were _not_ student and teacher. To her, they never had been. To this she added a memory, vivid in the human sense,but lacking in Vulcan attention to detail._

**It was the first time she had seen him stride into the classroom, back ramrod straight, face composed into a bland, cold expressionless mask, his eyes glittering dark under Vulcan brows. He looked young to her, too young to be teaching such an advanced course, but she detected no apprehension in his precise movements as he took his place behind the podium and assessed the students in front of him. Her first reaction had been an instant of apprehension, a tightening feeling of excitement, a guilty feeling admiration for his lean body. **

**Then he had opened his mouth to speak, and all those feelings vanished. His voice, cool, clipped, light, and precise. Perfect intonation. Absolute clarity. Music to her ears, and her ears were particularly sensitive to such things.**

**She'd had good teachers before, and Spock was not at all like that. When she heard him begin to speak, she felt the same way she felt around her closest friends, around her family. **

**Within a few sentences she had recognized him for what he was, and her ears, her infallible ears, understood immediately what he truly was to her. An equal. Not a teacher, not a quasi-human hybrid. An equal academically, mentally and spiritually.**

**After that she had felt only pure and absolute contentment in his classes.**

_The second thing she wanted him to understand was that he brought her something no one else could. Other students-- other boyfriends-- had called her cold. Other people failed to understand her complexities, to accept her requests- for distance, for respect of privacy, for honesty. Others (and Spock was presented with a long line of admirers) had thought that they understood her at one glance. _

_Spock was incapable of looking at her as an object, and that was appealing. Spock was more than fully capable of keeping up with her intellectually, and that was exciting. Spock was accepting of everything about her, and quietly intent on knowing every aspect of her. And that was enchanting._

_Spock could do something that no one else ever could. Where the very best of human men could only keep up with her, Spock was the only man who would ever be able to challenge her. Of this much she was certain._

_The final thing-- the most important thing-- that she wanted him to understand was what she had to offer. _

_The feeling she presented was best expressed with a simple human word that carried immense depth._

_Home._

_It was a feeling of love (a passing human emotion, but no less powerful, no less passionate). Of nurturing (based in affection for him, a desire to see him better), Of bottomless trust (absolute and unquestioning). Of faithful commitment (to what she called "Making it work. No matter what.")_

_Most of all, it was a feeling of unrelenting, unyielding _acceptance_ of whoever she discovered him to be._

And in the end, acceptance was something only she could give. It was everything that Spock could have asked for.

Spock broke the contact, more gently this time. For half a second he studied her face. Her eyes were still closed, her face peaceful but expectant, quietly reveling in whatever she was feeling. Spock had a sudden feeling that he, in all his endless meditations and contemplations, had never once in his entire life looked so at peace.

Her emotions lingered in him, interacting with his control, with the repressed human emotions that lay beneath. It was as if her emotions were a particularly volatile chemical that had been introduced to a compound which was unstable to begin with.

"Excuse me," he said, careful to keep his voice flat.

She opened her eyes, studied his face still so close to hers, searching for something there, he wasn't sure what.

"Excuse me," he repeated, backing carefully away. "I must... I require solitude."

She looked concerned. "You want me to go?"

"No," he said, sharply. He took a breath, searching for the serenity of logic, but finding that the thread of that logic was escaping him, as it had occasionally in his youth. "No," he repeated more gently. "Do not." Quietly he walked to the door of his bedroom. It swished open and he turned back. "there is tea on the counter. Please help yourself. There is plomeek if you are hungry."

With that, he stepped into the darkness of his bedroom, and let the door slide shut behind him. Solitude was required.

He stood perfectly still in the darkness of his room, trying to isolate and distinguish her feelings. Emotional transference was an effect of the meld, but if he could just separate out hers, than he would not need to feel them. He stood in silence for a moment longer. There was an emotion of affection, which was entirely illogical. There was the deep and abiding acceptance, which was clearly a feeling that she had transferred to him. There was no need to be affected by that. There was the sensation of first love, the entirely unpleasant sensation of adrenaline and there was absolutely no logical reason to feel that.

The more he separated her emotions from his own, the more he came to realize that more emotions, ones that he had not accidentally acquired from her, were cropping up.

"It is not logical," he murmured to himself, firmly.

Holding onto that, Spock allowed the serenity of rational thought to lead him out from the confusion of Uhura's emotional turmoil and the reaction she had elicited from his human side. The train led him to an inevitable conclusion, a logical one. For a few moments, he wondered whether his decision was pure logic or the half-logic that had allowed him to get into this situation in the first place.

But that was not wise. Second guessing had brought him nothing. He would not indulge in it again. Not as far as Cadet Nyota Uhura was concerned, certainly.

Spock took a deep breath. His course was clear, and his logic was sound.

Feeling once again that he was in control of his countenance, he re-entered the main room of the apartment, hands clasped behind his back. The cadet was nowhere in sight. For a brief moment, he thought that she must have gone, returned to her dormitory to be alone. For a moment he thought that she had left him.

Then she appeared around the corner of the kitchenette, holding two cup of tea. "I thought you might like some," she said, holding out the mug.

"Thank you, Nyota." he accepted the tea gently. She was watching him intently. He took a sip, and cleared his throat. "You must forgive me," he said at last. "I have, apparently, misjudged the exact nature of our relationship." He saw that she too appeared to have composed herself. She was nodding, her face still and her lips tight. "And for that I must apologize. Believing the emotional connection to be of entirely my own creation, I sought to find a solution without consulting you. This was rude."

He paused. "Would you care to sit?" he said suddenly, gesturing to the couch. Ducking her head, she took a seat on one end of the couch as he took one on the extreme other end. For a moment he considered how to phrase his next question. "How would you wish to proceed?" he said at last, looking at her and trying to make her understand his concern for her emotional well-being.

She looked up at him, apparently taken off guard by the tenderness in his voice. Wondering if he had expressed too much, Spock drew back. "Clearly our relationship has progressed beyond the stage where a simple termination would be logical. The emotional pain to you would create as much disturbance in your life as my remaining could."

"Yes," she said quietly.

He nodded. "Then it seems we must learn how to deal with our... feelings. I am open to any input you might have as how we ought to proceed."

"If I may," she said, and Spock thought that he detected a faint trace of a smile, which mystified him. Had he said something to amuse? "As of three days ago, I am no longer your student. In fact, as the advanced Phonology teaching aide, next semester, I will be your... co-worker."

Spock paused, considering the logic of her statement. "The regulations do not make such a distinction."

"Is it not logical to follow the intention of the law more closely than the letter? These regulations were composed by humans, and subject to errors."

"In general, it seems logical to abide more closely to the true intention of the law rather than the letter, but that is not necessarily wise. How can we be certain of the full intentions of the law without abiding by the letter?"

"Regulation states that students and teachers shall not engage in romantic or sexual relationships in order to, and I quote, 'prevent expressions of favoritism and protect both students and teachers from exploitation.'" She was in full debate mode, her hands clasped in front of her. "You will not be evaluating me, Mr. Spock. That honor falls to the head of the Phonology department. In fact, next semester, the only interaction you will have with me will be as if I were a fellow colleague, a junior teacher. There is no regulation preventing fraternization between colleagues, I believe?"

Spock paused, considering. "I believe," he said, "in that respect, your logic is sound."

"Then there is no logical reason for us not to pursue a relationship that could, potentially, alleviate a painful emotional situation that has developed on both our parts." She scooted closer to him, slightly.

"I do not believe that the emotions on my side are as... extravagant as yours have been, if you will forgive my saying." he noted coolly.

"But you do have feelings for me?"

Vulcans do not lie. Spock could, and he did briefly contemplate the option, but it was not logical. He nodded. "They are not necessarily the same as what a human would feel, and I certainly would not express them as such."

Her smile glowed. "Well naturally," she said easily, scooting even closer. "You are half-Vulcan." she was within sixteen inches of him now. "And you never allow emotions to guide your decisions."

"Correct," he said. He was having difficulty removing his eyes from her face. She was very close to him now. "And... since that is the case, I must impress upon you how difficult relationships between humans and Vulcans can be."

"It seems illogical to me not to attempt something simply because it is difficult. I joined Starfleet knowing it would be difficult," she pointed out.

"Vulcans are, by their very nature, nearly incapable of expressing emotion, privately or publicly." She glanced down briefly, breaking eye contact to allow himself time to gather his thoughts. "I am only half-Vulcan, but I have made a commitment to follow the Vulcan path."

"And yet you joined Starfleet instead of attending the Science Academy."

He stared at her. A human would have been flabbergasted, but her merely raised one eyebrow slightly.

"I read your file," she said. The eyebrow arched slightly higher. "What? You thought I wouldn't do a background check on a guy I thought I was falling in love with?"

He found himself musing over her use of the word 'love' and for a moment forgot that the word had been used in a question. "That would be very... logical," he answered promptly.

"And I don't accept your argument as a valid," she said. "It isn't as if we could express our emotions publicly either way. As student and teacher, it would hardly be wise to" she slid even closer to him "make out in your office," she finished slowly, never taking her eyes from his. "And as officer and officer, if we both end up serving on the Enterprise, we would always have to maintain professionalism and set an example for the rest of the crew." She shrugged, smiling. "So really, your unemotional nature would make it only logical for me to find you an acceptable partner."

"You find me acceptable?" he asked.

"More than acceptable," she said, reaching up with one finger and tracing the line of his jaw.

"There are," he said, slowly pulling away from her touch without actually moving away from her, "other impediments."

"I've already dealt with Starfleet regulations and the essence of Vulcan nature," she smiled, her face very close to his. "I don't think your 'other impediments' could be--"

"I am betrothed."

She drew back from him, exactly three inches. Her eyes flashed over his face, as if hoping to find a lie in his eyes. Vulcans do not lie.

"Her name is T'Pring," he said.

For a moment, he saw a flurry of emotions wrestle for control in her face, and then, with some effort, she pulled her face into the dignified mask that he had so often admired. "How long?" she said at last.

"19 years."

Her eyebrows came together sharply. "You got engaged when you were seven?" her voice was as sharply disbelieving as her expression.

"It is the Vulcan way."

Uhura blinked, processing this. For a moment she sat with her mouth slightly open, staring into a point in space. Without looking up at him, she swallowed, her expression pained. "Do you love her?"

Spock averted his eyes slightly, not wishing to disrespect her by staring when she was clearly in pain. "Love is not a factor in the equation. It is not logical. It is not necessary." After a moment, he glanced back at her, to gauge her reaction.

To his surprise, she was smiling, relief clearly written on her face. "Well, then." She scooted closer to him. There was less than an inch between them. "I don't care."

He blinked. "Is that not unusual for a human? As I understand it, women generally object to engaging in a relationship with someone who is already attached to--"

"I think it's high time that you and I admit that we are far from usual." She smiled, catching her lower lip between her teeth. "Don't you think?" He found that extremely distracting.

"I have an obligation," he broke eye contact, staring down to where their hands were almost touching.

"You are half-human, Mr. Spock. You have an obligation to yourself, too. Your human half. Don't you think?" She ducked her head to catch his gaze again. "Spock?"

"Self-neglect is not logical," he admitted.

"No it isn't," she said, coaxing his chin up with her finger. "You and me... it's only logical. I know you want to."

"Want to what?" he asked, staring at her large brown eyes.

She did not answer, tracing the line of his jaw with the tip of her finger. Part of him (exactly half, and he had a feeling he knew which half) wanted her to stop, since the cool fingertip was impairing his ability to concentrate. She was well within his personal space, the tip of her nose only a few centimeters from his. Her eyes were half-lidded, and her long, dark lashed fluttered against her cheek.

He swallowed. "You are very close," he said.

"Yes."

"Are you attempting to seduce me, Cadet Uhura?"

"With logic, Mr. Spock."

Spock considered this, his eyes flicking across her face. "I find that oddly appealing."

"I know. Isn't logic sexy?"

He stiffened slightly, "I am not certain that--"

"Would it be illogical to kiss me, Mr Spock?" she interrupted suddenly.

Gathering every shred of dignity left to him, Spock tilted his head, conceding the point. "Since I am forced to accept your earlier arguments as sound, I must concede that pursuing a romantic relationship would be an acceptable option. If that is indeed the option we chose, then a..." he paused for a second, momentarily distracted by the strand of hair escaping from her ponytail, "a kiss would seem the logical thing to do, by human standards."

"And what would be the Vulcan thing to do?"

Pulling his eyes away from her face, he held up one of his hands, his two first fingers extended. With his other, he gently took one of her hands and brought her first two fingers to touch his, just so.

"What is that?" she said quietly, staring down at the space between them, where their two first fingers were gently touching.

"It is a Vulcan expression of affection," he said, "Most often displayed between bonded mates."

She looked up, her dark eyes catching his. She laid her free hand on his cheek, gently pulling him towards her. She leaned across the distance between them and pressed her lips against his.

He was having some difficulty focusing. He could just identify the curve of her cheek and her long eyelashes laid against them. Apparently it was customary to close eyes while kissing. Duteously he followed suit and was pleased to find that it substantially improved his appreciation for the sensation.

Her lips were cool, just resting against his, her face pressing slightly into him. He did not move, concerned that if he did, something would be lost. She smelled of lilacs and jasmine, a perfume or a soap, he could not tell, and he found himself inhaling deeply.

She shifted her head, pulling her lips away and resting her forehead briefly against his before leaning back from him entirely. Spock did not move or open his eyes. He was exercising a Vulcan technique for fixing a physical sensation in the memory, a learning tool. He never wanted to forget that moment.

He felt her fingers on his chin, and he opened his eyes. She was very close again, her eyes staring into his He realized that she had intertwined their fingers and he was holding her hand very tightly. Thinking that he might be hurting her, he loosened his grip, only to find her tightening hers.

"Are you OK?" she asked quietly.

Spock cleared his throat. "I believe so," he said at last. "there is a... I have never done that before."

There was a sparkle in her eyes, a glint that he thought he could come to appreciate. "Does it require further experimentation?" she asked.

He could only nod once before she kissed him again, releasing his hands to wrap her fingers gently around the nape of his neck. This kiss was deeper, and her cool lips were moving against his in a way that was entirely unfamiliar. Spock was beginning to feel that he was no longer in control of this interaction. "I do not know what--" he murmured, breaking contact with her lips.

"You could try kissing me back," she suggested.

He was unsure how to respond. "I..." He swallowed again, finding his throat oddly dry. "I do not believe I have enough experience or data on the subject to attempt such an action." he looked up into her face, wondering whether she would begin to rethink her position. A human male would be a more suitable partner for this, surely.

But he found no judgment in her face. "You know what," she said gently, smiling reassuringly, "We'll work on that later."

He would have given her a relieved smile, if he had been human.

She lowered her hands from his neck, grabbing his prone hands and placing them firmly on her waist. "Try this," she said, kissing her way across his cheek and gently nuzzling his ear.

He closed his eyes as she traced the curve of his ear with one delicate finger. Did she know how sensitive the nerve endings in the Vulcan ear were? He felt his breath involuntarily quickening as she kissed her way back to his lips. She left a lingering kiss on his lips and leaned back slightly. She brushed his precise bangs with her fingertips.

"Forgive me," he said, opening his eyes. He fixed them on her face, flicking back and forth between her eyes. "Would it be appropriate for me to attempt some experimentation of my own?"

She was smiling sweetly at him. "Please do." Spock detected that her voice was a touch lower than it had been a moment ago.

He reached up slowly, and indulged an impulse he had once denied. Some of her hair had escaped her ponytail. He swept it back from her forehead, tucking it neatly behind her ear.

She was beaming at him. His observation could not be incorrect: his action must have pleased her. It was all the encouragement he required, because there was another impulse, and he felt it would not be inappropriate to indulge his human side on this occasion.

She let out a small squeak of surprise when he leaned forward suddenly, wrapping one arm tightly around her waist to pull her closer.

For a moment she didn't know what to do as his arms enveloped her. A hug, she realized. Or rather, an embrace.

He had not indulged in an embrace since his extreme youth, and this one was of a considerably different nature than the hugs he had shared with his mother, but the fundamental principles were the same. He was uncertain, wanted to ask her whether this display was acceptable, but did not wish to hear her say that it was otherwise.

She wound her fingers into his hair, and ran her fingers over his back, a comforting gesture. She nuzzled her cheek against him. "It's OK, Spock," she murmured. "I'm here."

He allowed his face to nuzzle into the curve of her neck, hiding the small smile that was spreading on his lips. He held her close, but his hands were gentle, always careful, always precise. He had a feeling, deep in his human gut, that if nothing else would ever break his composure, she would. He knew that the thought should trouble him, but it did not.

_A/N: Yes, I did enjoy writing that. A lot. Even the agony of revision and editing was enjoyable. Please R&R-- let me know if I haven't completely lost the voice (the longer it's been since I watched the movie, the more trouble I have catching it again.)_

_One more chapter to go-- just a quick little epilogue :)_


	6. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: who could blame me for wanting to steal this? It's not theft, really. I'm just... borrowing it. For my own devious purposes.**

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Epilogue

As evening fell, the door of Spock's apartment slid open and admitted one slender, dark figure.

"Spock?"

"I am here," said a quiet voice.

Uhura followed the sound of his voice around the corner to where he was sitting on the couch, his lute laid across his lap. "The strings require constant maintenance," he explained. He was wearing his Starfleet-issue pajamas, a simple black T-shirt and loose black pants of thin cotton.

She walked over at sat next to him. "It's beautiful," she said.

He nodded, staring at her face. "I thought," he said slowly, "that you might have returned home. To visit your family."

She smiled, shaking her head. "My mother won't hear of it, in my delicate stage of recovery." She smiled wryly.

His brows came together slightly. "How are you?"

"I had another treatment today. The scar's almost gone." She lifted her shirt a little to show him the faint pale line of the surgery scar. "The wonders of modern medicine, eh? It'll be completely gone by tomorrow."

Slowly, so as not to alarm her, Spock reached out a hand and traced the line of the scar. She shivered slightly at his touch. He drew back his hand, but she grabbed it. Her look was not one of desire, however, but concern. She laid the back of one cool hand on his forehead. "Are you feeling alright, Spock? You're burning up."

"Vulcan body temperature is generally higher than a human's," he said, evading her eyes.

Both her hands were on his face now. She gave a slight wry smile. "I believe I am familiar with your general body temperature, Mr. Spock. Are you hoarse?"

"I have a slight sore throat," he admitted. "And a headache." He reached up to catch her wrists and met her eyes. "But I believe it is apparent what illness I am suffering from."

A look of dawning realization came across her face. "You said Vulcans couldn't--"

"In retrospect," he said, "It seems highly unlikely that many Vulcans would have been exposed to the, ah... kissing disease."

"Have you seen a doctor?"

"It seemed both unnecessary and imprudent. I would not wish to cast aspersions on the nature of our relationship. I believe I should be sufficiently recovered by the end of the break to permit me to continue teaching classes."

"Oh Spock," she said, brushing his bangs and smoothing her cool hand across his forehead. "I'm sorry."

"I am not. Considering the events that have led to my illness, I believe that it is what a human would call 'a price well worth paying.'"

"Well we can blame James T Kirk for this," she said, her cool hands now resting on either side of his neck, her thumbs just brushing his jawline. "If he hadn't been such a skirt-chasing jackass with daddy issues and borderline alcoholism, I would have never gotten sick in the first place."

Spock cocked his head slightly. "Fascinating."

"What?"

He frowned slightly. "Had you not become ill, do you believe that our relationship would have progressed beyond that of student and teacher?"

"Why Spock, that sounds like second guessing. Is that entirely Vulcan?"

Spock sighed and said something that he did not generally admit aloud. "I believe the time may be coming for me to accept that I am not entirely Vulcan, no matter what my own aspirations may be." He frowned slightly, staring at the instrument still in his lap.

She took his lute and laid it gently aside. Taking his hands, she stood up. "Come on, Spock."

He allowed her to lead him through into his sleeping chambers. Releasing his hands, she stared at his bed. It was standard Starfleet issue, the double bed found in officer's apartments at the Academy.

"No pillows?" she said, disbelievingly. "No sheets? No blankets?" She turned back to him. "What do you do with that?"

"I sleep on it, Nyota," he said, confusion showing slightly in his eyes. "Is there another purpose?"

"Oh we have a long way to go, you and I." She looked back at the bare bed, frowning as if the bed were a particularly challenging equation to solve. "Eventually I hope it will have a very different purpose."

He followed her line of sight. It seemed perfectly acceptable to him. It was possessed of a molded headrest, as all Starfleet mattresses were. There was no need for pillows. And no matter what the San Fransisco weather decided to throw at them, he kept his quarters the temperature of a relatively cool Vulcan evening, which should have been comfortable for a human as well. No further insulation was required.

She gave a short huff. "Sit there," she said, pointing at the bed. He tone indicated that she found it thoroughly inadequate, though he was uncertain how.

He sat on the bed, and Uhura grabbed the chair from his desk. She set it up in front of his closet and stood on it in order to access the overhead storage.

"I could assist you."

"You are sick. You will stay right there."

Though she was now struggling to remove a large Starfleet-issue storage container, he knew better than to assist her. Sitting on the bed, he was uncomfortably aware of his own raised body temperature, which made the room feel colder by comparison.

"Nyota," he said as she successfully removed the container. "Would you still be comfortable if I were to raise the thermostat by several degrees?"

"You will do no such thing." She undid the clasps and surveyed the contents of the chest. "I knew they came standard with every room." She pulled out two large pillows. Striding over to the bed, she laid them at the head of the bed, fluffing them to her satisfaction. "Lie back," she said quietly as soon as she was done.

He obeyed her. The pillows were cool, and soft, and unexpectedly pleasant. Unfamiliar, yes, but the sensation was extremely... comfortable.

He looked over and saw Uhura approaching with two large pieces of fabric that he identified as a sheet and a comforter. She swept the covers over his prone form in one smooth motion and then proceeded to fiddle with the edges of the blanket, smoothing them and straightening them.

"Nyota?"

"Yes, Spock?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm tucking you in," she said firmly. "It is a human ritual observed when someone we care for is unwell, unhappy or simply tired." She smiled up at him. "It's supposed to make you feel more comfortable. Do you?"

Spock pondered the sensation of her hands carefully tugging and smoothing the blankets. The sheets were cold now, but he judged that his body heat would soon bring them to a more acceptable temperature. The pillows beneath his head were more supportive than the bare covered foam of the headrest, and the general sensation of being so enveloped was not as unpleasant as he might have thought it would be.

"I believe so," he answered at last, before raising his eyebrows at her. "But I would be just as comfortable without the excess of fabric and with the thermostat raised by a few degrees."

"I'm not gonna raise the thermostat, Spock." She finished her rearrangements of the sheets and comforter and stood back to admire her handiwork.

Fresh throbbing pain was pounding in Spock's temples. He closed them, attempting to force the pain to the back of his mind with his Vulcan willpower. Unexpectedly, he felt cool fingers bringing his hair back from his forehead. Opening his eyes, he saw Nyota staring at him, a tiny crinkle between her brows.

"You have a headache?" she asked. He nodded. Nyota leaned forward and kissed him gently on the forehead, and he closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her cool lips on his feverish skin. "There. Does your head still hurt?" she whispered.

Without opening his eyes, he replied, "I do not believe that kisses possess any qualities of pain relief."

"Don't tempt me," she warned. He opened his eyes and saw her smirking at him. "I still haven't tried getting you to kiss back yet."

His eyes flicked briefly away, though the rest of his face was immobile. He hoped (in vain) that Nyota's eyes were not sharp enough to catch the flicker of embarrassment in his eyes.

"Someday I'm gonna make you blush," she declared suddenly. "Just to see if it's green."

His eyes returned to her face, and his brows came together slightly for an instant. "I do not follow your reasoning, Nyota."

She sighed and wriggled into the bed, slipping behind him and positioning herself so his head was resting back on her chest. He tried to turn to look up at her, inquire what she was doing, but her hands were firmly on either side of his aching head now, forcing him to look forward. She placed her gentle, cool fingers on his temples and began massaging his head, her fingers working their way along his temples, tracing the line of his eyebrows and working through his scalp.

He closed his eyes, feeling the pressure gently rubbing away his pain. He hummed his satisfaction, and heard her laugh quietly behind him.

After a moment, she kissed the top of his head and whispered in his ear, so her lips just brushed the pointed tip. "I'll be right back."

"Mmhmmm," he murmured contentedly, leaning forward so she could slide out from behind him. He laid back on the pillows and allowed himself to bask in the momentary relief she had brought him.

He could hear her moving around through the rest of the apartment. She had started humming. He smiled a fractional Vulcan smile to himself as he recognized Mozart's wind serenade in C minor. Nacht-Musique.

He heard her return and moments later, the scent of warm plomeek made him open his eyes. She was standing beside him with a steaming bowl of soup.

"You did not need to do that," he said, sitting up.

"I wanted to."

"Thank you Nyota." He accepted the bowl. After staring at the plain broth for a moment, he suddenly looked back up at her. "Do you perhaps have some lemon basil?"

**FIN**

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_A/N: So, this is probably totally unnecessary, but just by way of a final explanation-- I don't generally write fanfiction, but I was deeply intrigued by the character of Spock, and, as an experiment, I decided to start writing something in his voice, just to see if I could._

_Also-- I had been reading Star Trek Fanfiction, and I found that most of the Spock-Uhura stuff made my picky-canon buzzer go off. In AU-Trek, all the differences spring from the Narada's first contact with the Kelvin, yes? THEREFORE, Spock and Uhura's relationship must in some way spring from that event. In this story-- it's Kirk. Had Kirk grown up with a proper father figure, he would have been (slightly) less of a jackass, and wouldn't have tried to get Uhura drunk to find out her first name and she never would have gotten mono in the first place._

_*quietly returns the Canon-Beast to it's cage*_

_Okie dokie. Now that that's done with, I'll just say this: writing all of the cute in this chapter almost made my head explode (in a good way) Please let me know if you liked reading it as much as I liked writing it... I honestly haven't decided yet whether want to try for a sequel. _

_Many thanks to all those who read and reviewed!_


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